


loser

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Suicide Attempt, ashton likes calling luke a loser, ashton loves luke a lot, brief mentions of ashton's family, i'm out of tags I think, it's cute i promise, jack is barely in this like a token sibling, luke is TINY, luke is v sad, poor ben never gets in any fanfics, there are FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS INVOLVED, trigger warning for cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3522989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where Luke's lonely and Ashton had no idea the little sophomore he'd been teasing for a year was quite so sad.<br/>also the one where Ashton only ever calls Luke loser<br/>(this may or may not involve self indulgence and friendship bracelets)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

Luke stumbles out of second period in a daze, his oversized guitar hitting the backs of his knees. Like a flower among weeds, he’s swallowed up by the swarm of noisy, overpowering, pushy teenagers, all in an unnecessary rush to reach their next class.

It’s like being a freshman again, shoved from all sides, invisible; it’s only because he’s small, and it’s not his fault. His shoulders ache with the weight of his backpack, and he lowers his head to avoid getting smacked in the face. The halls are a fight for survival, and Luke’s the underdog for a reason.

“Hey, loser!” A familiar voice pierces through the buzz, and Luke freezes and looks up.

Ashton grins and skims his hand over the top of Luke’s head as he brushes by. Luke breathes a sigh of relief. For a moment, the air lifts; Luke can _breathe_ again, a weight lifted from his chest.

“You’re so mean,” Luke breathes, without really meaning it. Since playing for the school’s showcase last year, Ashton hasn’t missed an opportunity to tease him.

“Get to class,” Ashton adds with a wink, and then disappears through the crowd. Luke finds himself standing rooted to the ground, unable to tear his eyes from Ashton’s retreating figure.

When the oxygen finally returns to his lungs, he remembers where he was originally supposed to be going, and turns to continue on his way, tripping over his own feet in the stupor left by Ashton’s appearance. After a couple of steps, the bell echoes through the halls, and Luke curses and picks up his pace. Not that Luke cares about math, but it does look irresponsible on his report card, and Luke is in the habit of avoiding his parents as much as possible of late.

So he hurries on, guitar slowing him down, waiting for the draft in the halls to blow through his hair and take Ashton’s lingering touch with it.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a year since Luke met Ashton. A year ago, Luke had been a spindly new freshman--14, with a nervous smile and tiny hands. The sun was brighter and the nights shorter; his eyes sang the ocean and he breathed innocence.

He had been so shaky trying out--Ashton remembers watching off to the side. He hadn’t been standing straight enough, his voice would give out when he ran out of breath. But he was so soft, so pretty. Lovely to listen to. Such a clear voice. When he sang, his eyes were cast down, golden lashes barely visible against his skin. Ashton liked watching him.

Next rehearsal, Luke got louder and more nervous, and the mic feedback was horrific. He’d flinched and stumbled, and when he was finished, Ashton had taken it upon himself to walk out onto the stage to help him.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he’d said, turning the mic away. “Just keep the same distance away from the mic while you sing. Try not to look down so much, or we lose that voice of yours and we don’t get to see your face.”

Luke had nodded anxiously, and up close, Ashton had noticed just how bright his wide blue eyes were. It was wrong, Luke was a child and Ashton was a legal adult--14 to 16--but nothing would come of it. Ashton made a concerted effort after that to keep his interests platonic.

But Ashton just couldn’t resist going out of his way to help Luke out and make him as comfortable as possible. Maybe he was a little physical when he adjusted the mic and positioned Luke--maybe he enjoyed the few seconds of contact he got when he high fived Luke before he went onstage (Luke’s hands were baby soft with callouses on his fingers from his steel-string). And God, when Luke smiled--that sudden flash of ease and light gracing his worried features--Ashton was far dizzier than appropriate.

Ashton found Luke wandering around after the night of the showcase, up and down in the same hall they meet each day, while everyone else was enjoying the celebratory cookies inside. He had been on his way to the music room to replace some cables and mics they’d brought to the theater when he’d noticed Luke meandering in the halls.

“Luke,” he’d called. His voice echoed off the walls. Luke had turned, spun right around on his heel with his eyes blown open in surprise. Ashton loved that he smiled at the sight him, even just that little smile.

“Ashton,” Luke had said, folding his hands in front of him and dropping his gaze. “Don’t you have something to do?”

Ashton held up the cords, smiling when Luke blushed in realization. “And you? Don’t you have something to do? Celebrate your awesome performance? People are talking about you.”

“Really?” Luke said brightly.

“Mostly girls and parents. Speaking of, do I not get to meet your parents?”

“No,” Luke said, and his eyes had dropped again. “They’re, uh, at my brother’s game.”

Ashton had rolled his eyes. “They really missed out. You’re a good kid, Luke. You’re gonna be great someday.”

Ashton knew it was a little too nice to fit with his teasing, but hell, it was worth it to see the glow that had spread over Luke’s face, that shy smile and humility.

“Now, how about I get this back to the band room, and then we go inside and you can meet my mother instead?”

 

* * *

 

Present day. Luke slams his backpack down on the floor of his room. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly at the release, and he sighs, setting his guitar down a bit more gently. He longs to take it out of its case, aches for the music to take his problems away. He relies too heavily on his chosen form of relief; you can’t find medicine in the strings of a guitar.

But as he finds more and more lately, things that never crossed his mind years ago have stolen his ability to lose himself.

Luke pulls out his homework and lays it out in front of him on his desk, feeling ridiculously easy tears prick his eyes as his mind strays to the long night ahead of him. His energy goes into pacifying people and passing his classes, and leaves him with nothing to relieve the pain in his chest.

He stands up from his desk chair and walks over to his mirror, leaning close and tugging at his skin, making faces and trying to find a way to disguise the way his eyes shine and his body responds, slumping, dragging him down. He swallows past the tightness in his throat and trails his fingers under his eyes, and then he’s just standing there in front of a mirror with a vacant expression.

Luke wants to be inspiring. He wants to be important. All Luke ever does is think about what he wants. But people aren’t inspired by sadness as much as joy. Talking about death is only fun when you’re afraid.

His thoughts derail when his mother pokes her head into his room. Luke looks up from his reflection, abruptly stepping away.

“Need a snack?” she offers. Luke searches her face for signs that she can tell he cried, even just that tiny bit.

Luke can’t find it in him to speak. His collapsed lungs make sure of that. He shakes his head instead, unsure whether he wants her to stop him or leave him. To care would be to try to understand, and Luke can’t tell her all the things he’s dying to spill to the first person who says they care.

“You didn’t talk on the way home,” she points out, and there’s something soft and hopeful in her eyes.

Luke shakes his head again, this time to indicate he’s not willing to pursue the conversation. Maybe there are some secrets worth keeping for a while; maybe he isn’t so eager for her to care.

She leaves, like he wanted, and he feels the ache in his chest intensify.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this fic for english a few months ago and changed ashton's name to brendon to avoid suspicion so if i forget to edit a brendon back to ashton don't freak out this is not a p!atd fic. decided to post this despite the extreme self indulgence and the lack of an actual plot. I swear it's not actually that bad  
> xx


	2. two

2

In school, Luke is quiet. Perhaps no more than usual, because nobody asks him why, and nobody thinks anything’s different. Luke doesn’t know what he’d say, even if he could get the words out.

His English teacher passes by his desk, glancing disapprovingly at the blank paper in front of him. Luke is all too aware of the kids writing furiously around him. He, on the other hand, has been staring at his paper since it was handed out.

“Luke, you need to get started,” she says. “What are you doing?”

Luke doesn’t look up. He puts his pencil to the paper and racks his brain harder, a fuzzy and vacant feeling settling in his head. There must be something he remembers that will help him.

His teacher sighs. “See me after class.”

Luke puts his pencil back down, giving up too easily. He should have focused earlier. He always pays the price for his wayfaring mind, useless and stupid.

The second period bell rings.

Luke stays in his seat, waiting as the class scrambles to squeeze through the door. He’ll be late for his next class, and he doesn’t anticipate enjoying this conversation. But he realizes with a tinge of anxiety that he’ll miss Ashton. It’ll be the first day all year they won’t see each other between second and third period.

“Luke?” his teacher says, and he stirs himself and forces his feet to carry him to her desk, backpack slung on his back. She looks at him with a sort of sympathetic expression. “I wanted to talk to you. You haven’t said a word in class for weeks, you aren’t turning anything in, your other grades are slipping. I saw your transcript from last year, and it seems like you were an excellent student. It just seems like I’m missing something. Is everything okay?”

Luke almost says it, but he doesn’t know what it is. How would he even begin, putting it into words? The monster eating away at his head and heart, the clouds over the sun, like sinking in a quagmire. There’s something perfect in his silence, crystal and untouched, and he can think of a million ways to describe the storm on the inside, but nothing comes close to being right.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, and he smiles, plastic and perfect.

“Do you need me to set up tutoring sessions or something? Or do you want to stay after school? I’m sure there’s time to fix your grade.”

Luke is running on borrowed time; fixing his grades is becoming a less likely prospect. They’re not even bad. They weren’t at all bad for quite a while. It’s only now they’ve begun dropping. And unfortunately, they’re dropping faster than he can grasp them.

“That’s okay,” Luke says politely, adjusting his backpack uneasily. “I’m sure I can pull a miracle.”

“Don’t forget I’m here for your success,” she says pointedly.

“I know,” Luke says. He’s itching to go to his next class. The bell’s about to ring and a new class will flood in and see he had to stay after class. He’s not so inclined to attract that kind of attention. “Uh, can I go? I’m late for third period.”

“I’ll write you a note,” she says, right as the bell goes off. Luke glances nervously at the opening door as she rummages through her desk for a spare piece of paper.

“That’s alright,” Luke says, losing his patience. “I’ll just go. Thanks anyway.”

Then he turns on his heel and hightails it out of there, fighting against the current to break out of the classroom.

He’s predictably late for his third period, but the real shame is missing Ashton. After all, nobody else will look at him twice.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, sophomore,” someone yells. Luke keeps his head down, staring at his dismal lunch, hoping it’s directed at some other poor sophomore.

“Sophomore. Hey, you. Loser. You ignoring me?” Luke is forced to look up when he feels someone’s shadow over him. He’s not sure whether he should be relieved or worried. After all, he only sees Ashton during the one passing period. He isn’t entirely sure he’s up for a whole conversation, especially not when he can see Ashton’s friends hanging back awkwardly.

Ashton smiles when Luke says weakly, “Oh. Ashton.”

“You missed our passing period rendezvous,” Ashton says. He adjusts his bandana over his pale brown curls, not seeming to notice the embarrassing shade of pink Luke’s skin has taken on. If Ashton even found out exactly how much Luke valued those few seconds in the hallway each day, he’d probably think Luke was creepy and start taking a different path to his third period. “Thought you were sick or something, I was about to go out and buy some incredibly pink roses and send them to your house.”

“No, you weren’t,” Luke says, and Ashton’s eyes twinkle. Always teasing Luke. Making him feel normal.

“Okay, but don’t get sick on me, kid. What happened, anyway? You avoiding me during passing periods?” Ashton leans over the table, and Luke is rendered absolutely inept by his proximity and the spontaneous conversation that Luke definitely didn’t study for.

“Just stayed back after class to, uh, finish an assignment,” Luke half-lies. He doesn’t need anyone, especially Ashton, to ask unwanted questions.

“You’re so studious,” Ashton says fondly. “Do you usually sit all alone at lunch? I have to say, I thought you were cooler than this.”

Ashton’s eyes and smile say he’s still teasing, but he still melts a bit. He likes that Ashton talks to him. He likes if anyone talks to him, frankly, but Ashton’s the only one who really notices him. And it would be so easy for Ashton to just stop.

“Uh, yeah,” Luke admits, squirming. He wonders briefly if he’d be so flustered if he was a senior, too, if it’s the age difference that intimidates him, or just Ashton.

“Always?” Ashton says, frowning now. “Where are your friends?”

Luke clears his throat uncomfortably. “Uh, I’m in a transition period right now.” That’s nonsense, of course. Whatever friends didn’t move away, either got tired of being pushed away or gave up.

“I could always sit with you, you know,” Ashton says. “If you get lonely.”

“Ashton,” one of his friends hisses. They gesture with little subtlety for him to rejoin them, and Luke immediately feels awkward. Ashton may be cool enough to slum it with the stupid, awkward sophomore, but his friends definitely don’t share the same interest.

“You should go,” Luke tells him, although he really doesn’t want Ashton to go.

Ashton sighs, glancing over his shoulder at his friends. It’s probably wishful thinking, but Luke thinks he looks almost reluctant. Still, they’re his friends; Luke’s just a kid he shoves (lovingly, of course) in the hallways.

“Well, I guess I should be going,” Ashton says ruefully. “See you around, kid.”

He retreats from the table and gets welcomed back into his little circle of friends. Luke watches him go, mumbling, “See you around,” even though Ashton’s out of hearing range already.

 

* * *

 

When Ashton gets home, he gets greeted by an enthusiastic crowd of four. Mother, sister, brother, and dog. He runs through each one and receives the obligatory friendship bracelet his sister has made for him, and then watches all but his mother disperse and return to their respective parts of the house. He sets his backpack down on the floor by the table and riffles through the cabinets and drawers for something to eat.

“How was your day?” his mother asks, already starting to prepare dinner.

“It was okay,” Ashton says offhandedly, pulling out a packet of chips.

“Anything exciting happen?”

“Not really,” he says, pausing and considering it. “I aced that math test I took last week, though.”

“Congrats,” she says, and Ashton nods.

“That was pretty much it,” he concludes. “Pretty boring day. Although, I did almost end up eating lunch with a sophomore.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, chewing on his lip. “You remember Luke? He did that cute little solo with his guitar at the showcase last year when I did tech. I see him every day in the halls between second and third period. I walked by his table today and he was sitting alone.”

“But you didn’t end up sitting with him?”

“I should have,” Ashton admits. “But my friends didn’t want me to. And, I mean, I only see Luke once a day for less than a minute. I don’t want him to freak out if all of a sudden I’m his best buddy.”

His mother shakes her head at him. “He’d probably be grateful to have company, you know.”

“I know, I know,” he says with a sigh. “I just felt like I was intruding. He’s such a quiet kid, you know, what if he likes being alone?”

“What if he doesn’t like being alone?”

“Fair point,” he mumbles. “I’ll go talk to him again tomorrow. But I can’t just ditch my friends.”

“I’m not suggesting that,” she says quickly. “In fact, I’m not suggesting you do anything at all. What you do at school is your business. But I hope you know what I’d want you to do. Don’t let me down.”

Ashton cocks his head to the side. “Mom. Please. You’re telling me to be his friend.”

“Not suggesting anything.”

“Yeah, right,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I know what you’d tell me to do if I was younger.”

His mother smiles, watching her cooking and ignoring Ashton. Ashton groans. He owes her this much.

“I’ll try,” he promises, “but I’m gonna get hell for it.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be doing English homework kill me lol  
> but this didn't need any editing (it probably does but i'm too tired) so here we are, hope you enjoy :)


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit got real

3

“I’m sitting somewhere else for lunch today,” Ashton announces as he approaches his usual table. His friends glance up at his arrival, waiting for an explanation.

Calum’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Where?” he asks derisively.

Ashton shrugs, sensing it’ll be faster and easier to be vague about it. He would rather this not be complicated. Ashton’s certainly prepared to battle his way to Luke tooth and nail, but it’s obviously not his preferred course of action. Not that he expects his friends to be so bothered. “Just thought I’d change things up,” he dismisses airily. “I’ll probably be back with you tomorrow.”

“You’re ditching us,” Michael says, ostensibly offended. “You better be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll see,” Ashton mutters, and begins to turn to go.

“Wait. It’s that little kid, isn’t it?” Calum cuts back in, rolling his eyes. “The one you were talking to.”

Ashton feels a little like a deer caught in the headlights. He can’t really explain everything he’s ever thought about Luke, which is the only way they would understand why he has to do this.

“Luke’s not little,” Ashton protests, glaring. “Well, I mean, he is, but only because he’s a sophomore. I’m sure when he’s a senior, he’ll be bigger.”

“Dream on,” Calum says, amused. “He’s fucking tiny, admit it. And you just love playing big brother. You were all over him at the showcase last year.”

“Oh my god. I was not.”

“Whatever,” Michael says, looking down at his phone. “Go on. Go sit with jailbait, if he makes your world turn.”

“Michael, you dick. I’m just trying to help him out.”

“Give it a break, you guys,” Calum says, sighing. “It’s really not a big deal. Go ahead, Ashton. I guess we’ll live without you.”

It’s hard to measure how the group feels collectively; Calum seems tired of the thing, mostly, but Ashton is a bit taken aback by Michael’s disdain. Ashton’s a horrific people pleaser. He’s grown up with a natural instinct for it. Between his dad leaving and the responsibility he assumed, he has always been overeager to help. Admittedly, not the worst thing; his fatal flaw could be a creepy obsession with dolls, or something.

But sometimes he can’t win, and there’s a sinking feeling that Michael will take a while to come around. With that in mind, he makes his way to the lonely child with the pretty pretty smile that melts Ashton on contact.

 

* * *

 

Luke is unpleasantly surprised when Ashton plops himself down across from him. He sits alone for a reason. People don’t want to be around Luke any more than Luke wants to be around people. If Ashton wasn’t--Ashton, he would make that explicitly clear.

But Luke can’t deny that Ashton is different, that when he messes with Luke’s hair or shoves at him or calls him stupid names, Luke is different. Ashton takes the weight off his chest, he burns out the persistent thoughts in Luke’s head; he practically glows, or at least, that’s how Luke sees him. Ashton is unlike everyone else.

“So, I came to keep you company,” Ashton says brightly, taking out his lunch. Luke develops a sudden stomach ache in his presence. Luke’s spent most of this year so far eating alone, and the abrupt shake in his routine sets him off.

“I can see that,” Luke says tensely, and his hand tightens over his knee. “Uh, but don’t you have friends to sit with?”

“I decided we’re friends,” Ashton replies breezily. “Therefore I should sit with you.”

Luke chokes on the apple he was eating, hunching his shoulders as his chest is racked with violent coughs. Ashton, looking rather concerned, reaches over and pounds on his back, nearly knocking him into the table in the process. When Luke recovers and is no longer in danger of asphyxiating or breaking his nose, he says shakily, “What?”

“Are you going to choke again?” Ashton asks, and Luke almost manages to say something coherent. “Chill, dude. You’ve had friends before, right?”

Luke raises his eyebrows and Ashton repeats, a little fearfully, “Right?”

Luke shrugs. “Yeah. Be a freak if I didn’t.”

“I don’t know, I was going more for lame, loser, loner--”

“I get the idea,” Luke says, cutting him off.

“You know, the funny thing is, lame and loser and loner and Luke all start with the same letter.”

“Asshole.”

“Asshole, Ashton. Touché, sophomore.”

“Look, if you just came to make fun of me...”

He’s half joking, but he quirks an eyebrow at Ashton just to make sure. Ashton smiles disarmingly and waves him off with a flick of his wrist. “I told you, didn’t I? I came to keep you company.”

“Because you can leave any time, you know. You don’t have to feel sorry for me, or something.”

Ashton scans Luke’s face, wanting to see that he’s joking, that he didn’t make him feel bad. He’s still testing boundaries. He’s been teasing Luke all year, sure, but he doesn’t really know him well enough to judge how far he can go.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Ashton says, keeping his tone light. “Can’t a man sit where he wants?”

“Yeah, but you’re not a man, you’re a boy,” Luke mumbles in a sorry attempt to turn the tables and be the one teasing for once. He worries this might be overstepping.

“Ouch, that hurts,” Ashton say sarcastically. “I’m seventeen, you know. I’m an adult. I can drive.”

“Terrifying,” Luke shoots back, and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Go back to your friends, Ashton.”

“Friends? What friends?”

“The ones who probably told you how lame it was you were ditching them for a sophomore.”

“Well, you don’t miss a thing, do you?” Ashton marvels, starting on his own lunch. “I thought we got past this. Aren’t we friends, Luke? Or do you have something against me? Did I turn down your mic too much last year in the showcase? Did I hurt your feelings when I called you loser?”

“You’re a senior,” Luke says clearly, “and you’re not the kind of senior who hops grades, either.”

“I’m making an exception for you,” Ashton responds, and winks. “Come on, Luke. Just accept that I’m here and make the most of it.”

“Because this is a one-time thing,” Luke says, finishing Ashton’s sentence. It’s not like he expected it to be any different, so it’s really not so much of a blow.

“You don’t know that,” Ashton protests.

Luke says nothing, just smiles down at his sandwich, because he knows he’s right. Ashton’s nice, nicer than he should be at any rate, but he’s not a god. He’s only a little better than everyone else. In an alternate universe, if they were the same age, if Luke was a different person, he’d want to be Ashton’s friend. As it is right now, he prefers solitude. Given the choice, Luke would rather be alone than make small talk with someone who’s only here for a day; whatever you can call their relationship, it’s only temporary, it’ll fall apart before Luke even hears the crack.

“Okay, now that I’ve done my best to persuade you of my gentlemanly intentions,” Ashton continues, “can we move on?”

“If you want,” Luke mumbles, barely audible.

“Fantastic,” Ashton enthuses. “So, how was your day?”

Luke never knows how to respond to that question. It’s a bit unfair, really.

“It was okay,” Luke says blandly.

“Better than bad,” Ashton says--grossly optimistic, as always. “Anything happen?”

“Not really.”

“What classes are you taking?”

Luke just shrugs, not wanting to go through the list.

Ashton wants to lay down on the ground and give up. Luke’s not putting forth any sort of discernible emotion or personality, which he knows has to be a facade. He’s seen Luke every day and in those few seconds Luke exhibited more color than he does now. Maybe Ashton’s missing something. Or maybe Luke really just doesn’t care.

“Doing any sports this year?” Ashton tries, and Luke shakes his head.

“P.E. is challenging enough,” Luke concedes.

“True,” Ashton agrees. “I’m doing soccer this season, but it’s just to pacify the coach. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Luke looks doubtful. “You sure? You’ve done soccer all four years, haven’t you?”

“Oh,” Ashton says, blushing, “yeah. Senior year, though, I wanted to just kick back a little. How’s sophomore year treating you, anyway?”

“What do you think?” Luke shoots back. “If I don’t pull my grades up--” He pauses, draws back a little. “There’s a lot of work,” he amends.

“If you ever need any help,” Ashton suggests, “you can always text me, you know. Not saying I remember much of anything, and you’re probably smarter than me at any rate, but, you know, I can try.”

“It’s okay,” Luke says, hunching his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

Ashton smiles. Luke’s indifference was uncharacteristic as far as he was concerned; being shy is truer to his memories, and that makes him more comfortable, because it’s easier to get back into the swing of things.

“You have my number from last year,” he says. It’s true; every now and then, Luke hovers over the “Message” button, never quite having the courage to press it. Just waiting, wishing, wondering what Ashton would say if Luke spilled to him. Ashton would care. But he would see Luke differently. He likes things with Ashton the way they were. It was easy to not think. It was like breathing.

The bell rings for lunch, and Ashton looks up at the nearest intercom speaker, squinting through the sun. “Well, we should go to class,” he says, standing up and throwing his lunch bag away. “What do you have?”

“History,” Luke says, relieved lunch is over.

“That’s the same direction as my class,” Ashton says brightly, eyes lighting up. “I can walk you there, if you like.”

“I’m not a little kid,” Luke protests. “Go to your class. I just have to pack my things up.”

Luke’s still hesitating. Ashton wonders if this still counts as a good start. It’s the longest he’s heard Luke talk, probably. That has to be something.

“Of course you’re not a little kid,” Ashton says placatingly, but turns to go. “See you around, loser.”

Luke watches him go, a smile twitching at his lips. He suppresses it quickly. Now’s not the time to get attached. It was nice of Ashton to sit with him, but it won’t last. Not when Ashton finds out that whoever Luke has made himself into--it’s all a lie.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Ashton sees Luke again sooner than expected. As he walks into the locker room later that day to change for soccer, he sees Luke changing in the far corner by the mirror. He doesn’t notice at first, setting his soccer bag down on the bench by his locker and opening it to pull out his athletic clothes. He doesn’t even see Luke until he senses movement in his periphery.

He glances sideways, resisting calling out. Luke changes quickly, stripping off his P.E. shirt, and replacing it with a plain black t-shirt. Ashton looks away hastily, overly conscious of the fact that he’s watching another guy change. He can’t help but look back briefly, and then he finds he can’t look away.

Not for the right reasons, either.

He feels his mouth fall open. It’s only a flash he sees, angry, red, raised cuts across Luke’s thighs, like someone dug a knife into canvas and ripped it, dark red on pale white. And oh,  _no,_ not quiet, shaky little Luke. Ashton's eyes are deceiving him.

“Oh,” Luke says in a small voice, turning around with his skinny jeans tugged on now. There’s guilt in his eyes. There’s guilt in Ashton’s eyes, too; he knows. They both know what he saw. “Ashton.”

“Hey, Luke,” Ashton says, working past the shock. He’s dying to make this easier for Luke, to make him feel okay about it. “I didn’t know you had P.E. this period.”

“Usually, I’m...out of here by now,” Luke says after a second, grabbing his backpack and shutting his locker. As he snaps the lock into place, Ashton can see how wide his eyes are, the tinge of pink in his cheeks. Luke turns to face Ashton, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Soccer?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. His head swims with conflicting thoughts. What does he do? It’s too fast. It’s not his place to do anything. Does Luke want him to pretend it didn’t happen? Or does he desperately want someone to ask, is he dying for someone to notice? “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, his breath stolen in the most unfair way. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke passes him, head down.

Luke wonders if Ashton intentionally used his name this time.

Ashton’s still in a haze when he gets home after soccer. He keeps thinking it over--the deer-in-the-headlights look on Luke’s face, the way his hands shook, the way he couldn’t look Ashton in the eye.

It occurs to Ashton that he knows even less than he thought. Luke was distant enough as it is, being so young, and shy to begin with. But now he can see what he was missing. It makes sense, that the reason Luke doesn’t like talking is probably because he’s just been waiting for the right person to tell, and it might come tumbling out any second. But then it doesn’t make sense at all, because Luke’s talented and young and smart goddamn, Ashton just doesn’t understand it. It would have been so easy to guess Luke had secrets. But it never crossed his mind that the boy he teased endlessly was that kind of person.

“Ashton?”

Ashton blinks and realizes he was spacing out. He refocuses on his mother. “Yeah?”

“I asked what happened with that kid today,” she repeats patiently.

“Oh,” Ashton says, wanting to avoid the topic entirely. “Luke. Yeah. I sat with him.”

“And?”

Ashton doesn’t immediately respond, running his fingers over the countertop. “It was okay, I guess.”

“Did it go well?”

“Mm,” Ashton hums absently. “He didn’t talk too much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, then makes his way to the hallway. “I’m going to start homework.”

“Keep up the work, Ashton.”

Ashton conveniently forgets to mention the locker room scene, feeling it inappropriate to be sharing secrets of that caliber. What can he do? How will he get Luke to ever take down his guard around him now?

There are so many unanswered questions. Ashton feels an ache in his chest. How was he supposed to know that Luke was harboring such a fatal secret? Ashton’s so unbelievably fond of him, he doesn’t want to believe it. This kind of thing happened to other people. Not Luke, not the unassuming sophomore with his blond fringe in his eyes and the guitar still too big for him. Why Luke?

Ashton breaks the tip of his pencil in his frustration and sets it down, slumping. Now that he knows, he can’t bear to leave Luke all alone again. He didn’t sign up to be Luke’s hero.

Still, what choice does he have?

 

* * *

 

Luke sits on his bed, schoolwork spilled over his lap. In typical fashion, he’s sat here since he got home, not even having bothered to take his pen out.

His mind has been kicked into overdrive, but he hasn’t touched his work. There’s too much to think about. It all comes back to Ashton. Luke has a long list of questions he wishes he had the voice to ask.

He knows Ashton saw. It was written all over his face.

If only Ashton hadn’t seen.

Where does Luke go from here?

He could ditch school. That’s not the frontrunner among his options, mostly because he would still like to pass high school, and he’s pretty sure his parents would concur. And he can’t avoid Ashton forever.

But he can avoid him for a pretty long time. Change his passing period route, find a new lunch location, get out of P.E. faster. Unfortunately, in the same school, even separated by grade, Luke will end up running into Ashton over and over again. He can bide his time, but chance and Ashton’s incredible persistence will eventually lead them back together.

Luke doesn’t want to think about facing him, but he can’t help it. Every time he tries to redirect his attention to the math in front of him, his mind wanders off to the topic. And Ashton.

Despite his doubts, Luke had retained some hope that maybe something miraculous would happen and he and Ashton would hit it off, in whatever sense you could interpret that. This pretty much eliminates that possibility. Ashton’s going to think he’s a freak. This is the end of any possible friendship. Luke could waste his time convincing himself that Ashton’s someone who won’t give up on him, that this won’t deter him in the least. But he can’t count on that. It was hard to miss the look on Ashton’s face.

That’s how it always goes.

Luke wishes he could be angry that history repeats itself in this way, but frankly, there’s a reason nobody stays. There has to be. And he buys into that.

By the time he gets to his homework, he’s worked himself up into a frantic mess, scribbling answers with careless speed, mind still moving a mile a minute. Tomorrow, how will Ashton react? Maybe Ashton will beat him to the chase and change his path. Or maybe he won’t look at Luke, ignore him. Luke isn’t sure which is worse.

The worst part is that Luke’s not even entirely upset. He saw it coming the minute Ashton sat down. And he knew in the beginning of all this that somehow, in some way, Ashton would leave. He just hoped--prayed, really--that it wouldn’t be so soon.

Luke can’t stand to lose another friend.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this isn't too bad so far  
> pleeeeease comment (i'm such a thirsty writer) bc i actually really want to know how this is  
> thanks for reading you're all awesome xx


	4. four

4

“So, how was your day?” Ashton says cheerfully, settling down across from Luke. Luke’s jaw falls slack.

He’d assumed that when he didn’t see Ashton in the hallways, that he was right, that Ashton had given up and didn’t want to associate with Luke anymore. He was so sure, even before the passing period, that it was the end of that.

Ashton’s only getting started.

“A-Ashton,” Luke stammers, eyes widening in alarm. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Ashton says, looking mildly offended. “You underestimate me.”

“But you--” Luke starts and then stops. “Yesterday, you--I--”

“I what?” Ashton says, winking and smiling to set Luke at ease.

“Don’t act like you didn’t--you saw, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t watch people change,” Ashton says dismissively. “That would be gay. Which I am. But still.”

Luke stares him down. There’s no way he didn’t see. Luke saw his face, felt the air shift. It would have been impossible for Ashton to not see.

“Ashton,” Luke says, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

“Really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ashton,” Luke repeats, slumping. “Just stop, okay? I know you saw.”

Ashton sighs, dropping the innocent facade. “It’s not a big deal, Luke. What does it matter?”

“Because it does,” Luke says, frowning. “Don’t try to make me feel better about it. You don’t have to.”

“I’m not, like, trying to write it off,” Ashton clarifies. “I just mean that--you know, it’s your business. If you don’t want to talk about that kind of stuff, it’s okay.”

Luke wishes he could be relieved, but he almost wishes Ashton would push, so he wouldn’t have to start it. After all, he’s been dying for months and months now. That’s what it is, really. Life’s not so black and white. From the moment you are born, you’re not living, you’re dying. For Luke, the process has been expedited.

Every time he comes close to telling, he gets cold feet. But the longer he bottles it up, the more urgent it is to tell. There are some days when it’s barely stuffed down his throat, when he can’t breathe for fear of saying something he shouldn’t--for saying something he can’t. What right does Luke have to make someone listen? It has to be their choice, and nobody ever pushes, even if they come close to uncovering. People don’t want to hear about sadness. Why would anyone want to be sad?

So, then, why is Luke still like this?

“I’m sorry,” Luke says finally. He refuses to look up at Ashton, starting to get intensely nervous.

It’s so hard to explain, existing desperate for so long to just tell someone, and the terrible immobility he experiences when he comes close to the edge.

That’s what depression _is_. There is nothing lonelier than this kind of chronic sadness. Luke is just a statistic. He’s part of a demographic. And society imposes shame on all of these people--and they’re only data, they mean nothing more. Shame is a learned habit. We’re supposed to be ashamed of a kind of paralyzing internal conflict; the expectation is only inflicted by those who don’t understand. You have to go to hell to know what it looks like.

“Don’t be sorry,” Ashton says hurriedly. “It’s not your fault, you know? There’s nothing to be sorry about. I just--didn’t know.”

“Nobody knows,” Luke says, ducking his head. “You can’t tell anyone. Please don’t tell.”

“Yeah, of course,” Ashton says. “It’s your secret.”

Luke exhales heavily, still rigid. “I’m ruining things.”

“No,” Ashton rushes to reassure him, trying to get a look at his eyes. There’s a horrible feeling when he sees the mist over the clear blue irises. “No, Luke, you’re not. Something’s going on that you don’t know how to control, so you--no, you’re not ruining anything.”

“Really,” Luke says, his voice flat and disbelieving. “Give up, Ashton. You don’t belong here. Your friends are probably missing you.”

“I sit where I want to,” Ashton says firmly. “I choose to sit here, Luke. I want to sit with you. Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

Luke shrugs obstinately. Ashton sighs. He adds, “Anyway. I don’t want you to think things have to be weird. You’re the same to me you’ve always been. I don’t care if you cut. That’s not why I’m here, to make you feel bad about it.”

“Then why are you here, Ashton?”

“Because you needed a friend,” Ashton says, and he’s so soft and warm and gentle to Luke. “Don’t panic, okay? You don’t have to be lonely anymore."

 

* * *

 

A couple days later, Luke remains on the bench last period while Ashton changes into his soccer things. He was already changed by the time Ashton got in, and was sitting with his things, seemingly waiting for him.

“Aren’t you going home?” Ashton asks, nodding towards him.

“My mom will text me when she gets here,” Luke says, and doesn’t move.

“You mad at me?” Ashton asks. Luke had been quiet and defensive most of lunch. Ashton had been trying to push a little--test Luke’s barriers, get him to talk. He can’t shake the feeling that Luke has a lot of things to say, just needs the opportunity. Yet when he presses, Luke shuts down. Ashton’s nothing if not perseverant, but Luke is extremely guarded. Ashton fears he might go too far and upset Luke.

“No,” Luke says, and pulls his knees up and rotates his body to face Ashton, leaning sideways against the rows of lockers. “I’m not mad.”

And Ashton can believe him, because there are some things nobody wants to talk about. And Ashton, Ashton knows.

“Good,” Ashton replies, zipping up his bag and sitting down next to Luke’s feet to tie his tennis shoes. “I’m sorry I asked so many questions.” Not that Luke had answered any of them. Luke is better at deflecting questions than mirrors in direct sunlight. It’s so useless. Ashton’s trying his best, but he’s gotten nothing out of Luke. The most exciting things he’s found out were by chance, or observing. He gets the sense Luke’s not much of a talker.

And then sometimes, things slip out. Like when Luke said, _No, my dad’s never home_. Or, to Ashton’s puzzlement, when he slips and says things like, _People don’t really need me_. Ashton can’t quite piece together Luke’s life.

He’s gathered that Luke’s father is largely absent and notices hardly anything, whereas his mother is almost too attentive and makes Luke feel guilty that he worries her so often. There’s pressure to live up to his older brothers’ standards (they were apparently excellent students), but even with the pressure, nobody really expects much of him. Luke is underestimated and ignored, and his personality doesn’t lend to confronting people about when things bother him.

The problem is mostly exacerbated by school, where for whatever reasons, Luke is alone, and as much as he may say he’s comfortable with it, Ashton gets the sense he’s growing uneasy. The stress is clearly taking a toll on Luke, evident at least in his dropping grades if not just in Luke’s personality. When Ashton ask how Luke’s day is, he always gives the same answer: “It’s okay,” followed by a shrug, followed by an amendment, “I want to go home.”

But even with all of this, Ashton has no clear idea who Luke is. He’s a musician, but he doesn’t have any plans for a career or college. There’s no sign that he even thinks that far ahead, which is certainly not Ashton’s problem, but it’s bad because Ashton knows he doesn’t think he’ll be here come college. And then, with what he saw that day in the locker room, he has no pinpointed motivation. Not that he understands such habits. Generally, Ashton’s never sure where Luke starts and ends, what makes him tick.

“It’s okay,” Luke says, replying to Ashton’s apology in reference to the mass of questions he’d bombarded Luke with at lunch. He’d lost control a little, admittedly, and forgot to temper himself.

“If you feel uncomfortable, you’re allowed to tell me,” Ashton points out. “I run my mouth sometimes. I got caught up, a little.”

“I know,” Luke says, playing with the hole in the knee of his jeans. “I get it.”

Ashton glances at Luke. “I don’t want to upset you.”

Luke is agitated by that. His shoulders tense and he says in a low voice, “Don’t filter yourself around me. I don’t want you to tiptoe.”

Ashton’s slightly taken aback. “What if I say the wrong thing?”

Luke loses the ferocity immediately, slumping back down and turning his face. “I don’t want to feel like I’m not real. I don’t want to have to distinguish between what’s actually happening and what I think is happening.”

Ashton understands, to some extent, and it’s another piece in the puzzle. That’s what Luke is. He’s a puzzle, a jigsaw. Ashton’s just not far enough along to discern the image.

“Okay,” Ashton promises, “I won’t tiptoe. But, Luke?”

“Hm?” Luke mumbles, looking back at Ashton.

“I promise you can trust me. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you.”


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> michael's kind of a bitch i'm sorry

Luke’s probably a fool. It’s dangerous to trust anyone, if you have secrets like Luke. Mental health is such a fragile topic. Luke has no social life to speak of, but at least being invisible is better than negative attention. He doesn’t need this to spill out to the rest of the school, or (probably) worse, his parents. He wants to say they wouldn’t care, but he knows they would kick up a fuss.

The best thing to do would have been to stay barricaded against anyone who came close, as he was very successfully doing before. He should have cut this off from the very start. But he’s too far in now. Cutting Ashton loose now risks the opportunity for him to blab to his friends, or anyone really, about everything. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Ashton may be a friend (Luke’s still unclear if he qualifies), but Luke will consider him as an enemy (theoretically, anyway). Ashton has the secrets. If he jumps ship now, Luke can’t make sure they stay under wraps.

That’s probably why Luke’s in Ashton’s room (it’s definitely not because Luke’s a sucker for the particular shade of hazel Ashton’s eyes are), sitting on the edge of his bed and looking around in awe. It’s a musician’s dream, music posters papering the walls of the room, a drum kit and cajon in the corner, an acoustic guitar hung on the wall, a saxophone propped up on a stand in the corner, and soundproofed walls. There’s a huge collection of CDs on the bookshelf.

Luke might be in heaven. It’s just speculation, but it’s possible.

“You play all these things?” he asks in awe.

“Yeah,” Ashton confirms, smiling as he follows Luke’s eyes. “Of course, drums are my main thing. I kind of dabble in everything else. Played sax in middle school for band, the rest I just took up in my own time.”

“Damn,” Luke says, unable to stop himself. Ashton notes the way his eyes lit up when he saw all the instruments. “You’re impressive. You never told me about all this.”

Ashton shrugs. “I used to play a lot more. Nowadays I don’t.”

“Why did you stop?” Luke asks, tilting his head. “I could never.”

Ashton smiles, shrugging. The corners of his eyes crinkle up. His smile is probably the closest thing to pure sunshine. “That’s because you’re set to become a musician.”

“Did you not like playing?”

Ashton sits on the edge of the bed. Luke feels the bed dip towards him. “Oh, no. I loved playing everything. Life just got in the way. I guess--I lost touch. Sometimes when something means too much, it gets overwhelming. You have to take a step back, you know?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, uncertain. “Did it really mean so much?”

Ashton hesitates. “Yeah, I--it just got to the point where I was too dependent. Can I show you something?”

Luke nods, eyes innocent and bright. It hurts--Ashton is afraid, but mostly he hates that this will disillusion Luke.

He pulls up his sleeve, tentative, and Luke doesn’t react at first, until his lip starts to tremble and he suddenly grasps at Ashton’s arm, looking closer. “Oh,” he breathes. “I never knew.”

The scars are all faded, but in the light of the bedroom and their proximity, it’s easy enough to tell what created them. “It was a while ago. Started around--when I was your age, probably. As incredibly difficult as it is to believe, I wasn’t always this dazzlingly perfect,” he says with a brief smile. “I’m only a year clean, but I’m okay now.”

“Why?” Luke asks, still bewildered.

“Guess I was kind of wired that way. My mum was working most of the time, and my dad walked out when I was two, so I really only had my own company. I take care of my siblings a lot, too, but I used to put a lot of pressure on myself about it. Like if they got scraped up at school it was somehow my fault, or if they got a bad score I had to work hard to make sure they had what they needed. I’m learning to step back still.”

Luke nods. “And the music?”

“It was the only thing keeping me going, and that’s fine as long as you need it, but my happiness, my recovery--that’s all mine. It wasn’t a person, wasn’t my music, it was just me.”

“And you’re okay now?” Luke asks, his fingers still around Ashton’s wrist.

“Yeah,” Ashton says with a smile. “I’m okay now.”

“I’m glad,” Luke says. He points to one of the posters, changing the subject. “I didn’t know you were into them.”

Ashton squints. “Oh, yeah. It’s been a couple years since I found them. They’re a little off from my usual stuff, but something about them was really...fascinating. I get the feeling the bassist is really a genius songwriter, he just hasn’t come to full potential.”

“Hard to say who’s a musical genius,” Luke muses. “Music’s too big of a spectrum. It’s not even like a spectrum, a spectrum would be sort of in one dimension. It’s like there are too many dimensions to track, so pinpointing what’s genius is would be impossible.”

“Well said,” Ashton approves. “Anyway, I was actually listening to their album last night--”

Ashton’s interrupted by the doorbell ringing. He cuts off his sentence and furrows his eyebrows, obviously not expecting visitors.

“Who is it?” Luke ventures in the silence.

“I don’t know,” Ashton confesses. “Maybe my mom came home from work early, but she’s supposed to work late tonight.”

“Maybe you should go see,” Luke says, and Ashton nods, rolling his eyes.

“Thanks, Luke, I definitely didn’t think to check,” he says sarcastically, heading toward the stairs, which he takes two at a time. Luke follows at a slower pace, trailing after him, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“No need to be snappy,” Luke mutters as Ashton opens the door.

Luke’s heart practically falls out of his chest.

He wasn’t aware this day with Ashton could even be ruined, but he’s pretty sure this counts. Even Ashton looks uncomfortable--although Luke’s not sure what it’s a result of.

“Guys,” Ashton says nervously, running his tongue over his bottom lip out of habit. “What are you doing here?”

“Better question,” Michael says, strolling right past Ashton into the house. “What is he doing here?” He points at Luke. Luke wants to sink into the stairs and disappear forever.

“I brought him here,” Ashton says, setting his jaw. “Get out, guys, I didn’t invite you. You can’t just show up.”

“Stop blowing us off, then,” Michael suggests. Calum drags his feet over the doorstep, reluctant.

“I tried, Ashton,” Calum groans. “He wouldn’t be dissuaded.”

“Okay, seriously, this isn’t cool,” Ashton insists. Luke shrinks away, creeping back up the stairs. “If I wanted you to be at my house, I’d drag you over here myself. This is a terrible time.”

“Are we interrupting something?” Michael asks innocently. Ashton regrets keeping him around. “Your little, ah, love affair? Never pinned you to be a cradle-robber.”

Luke can define the exact moment Ashton’s demeanor changes. It’s subtle, just drawing himself up to look taller, gritting his teeth, hands curling slightly as if in preparation to fight; his eyes narrow and seem to darken. It’s clear Michael’s remarks triggered something in him, and it’s a little frightening for Luke.

“Shut up, Michael,” Ashton says calmly, advancing on him. “Get out. I don’t want to hear it from you. I’m sick of you always being such a--”

“Back down, lover-boy,” Michael says, standing taller, too. Luke sits at the top of the stairs, trapped. “Just came to straighten out your priorities, that’s all. A little bit of loyalty would be nice, Ashton, you know? If you’d rather hang out with some sophomore loser you’ve known for a year, rather than the people who have been your friends since elementary school, that’s fine.”

Michael calling Luke a loser strikes a chord in both Luke and Ashton. Luke, because when Michael says it, it’s not as loving, not as nice, not meant as endearingly as when Ashton says it. And Ashton, because he doesn’t like the way Michael says it, either. The second Michael is finished speaking, Ashton goes to swing at him, but Calum lunges forward and pins Ashton’s arms to his side, trying to intervene.

“Okay, listen, you two,” Calum says breathlessly. “You need to calm down. It doesn’t even matter, okay? This is not going to break up our friendship, you hear? Stop getting so goddamn worked up over something like this. The kid doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, like _hell_ he doesn’t--” Ashton starts again, but Calum shuts him up.

“Michael, you need to learn to keep your mouth shut, mate,” he says simply. Michael pries him off and shakes himself off, straightening his t-shirt out with a miffed look.

“Okay, I think we’re done here,” Calum says firmly, grabbing Michael and yanking him back to the front door. “Sorry, Ashton. But he’s kind of right, too. We need to talk.” And with that, he drags Michael out the door, shutting the door behind him.

Ashton stares at the shut door for a minute or so, fists clenched and chest heaving. He’s beginning to understand why Luke thinks he’s so severely unpopular, something rather novel for Ashton to consider. Because nobody understands Luke; nobody sees past the hollow shell he presents.

He turns and looks for Luke, finding him at the top of the stairs looking anxious. Luke rises, coming down the stairs and grabbing his backpack by the front door.

“I should go,” Luke mumbles, not looking Ashton in the eye. As glad (and surprised) as he is that Ashton tried to stand up for him, the stress of being the rift between Ashton and his friends is a little hard to bear, and he’s anxious enough to need to be alone.

“Luke, please,” Ashton says, grabbing at his arm. Luke jerks his arm away like Ashton’s hand is scalding. “Don’t leave. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Luke says, turning on the threshold to reassure Ashton with wide eyes. “I just--I should go, okay? You know where to find me at school. But I think it’s time you go back to your friends.”

And although Luke means well, when he shuts the door behind him with a touch of finality, his words _burn_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry i had to make michael the mean one i still love michael a lot okay i'm sorry  
> it's been a while since i updated bc i got distracted lol sorry pls enjoy


	6. six

Ashton curses and tosses his phone on the bed. He didn’t do anything wrong per se--except, of course, making a poor choice of friends, but until now it had worked fine.

Luke hasn’t responded to any texts, and he’s still caught in a crossfire between his friends. Calum’s trying not to overreact, but it’s clear he has reservations, too. Ashton wishes there was a way to continue with Luke and still keep his friends. The logical solution was to bring Luke to sit with his friends, but something tells him that’s a lost cause now.

He wishes he could explain to them why it’s so important for him to be friends with Luke. It’s hard for them to understand, not knowing Luke, why suddenly after years Ashton’s investing his time in someone who, to them, is nobody at all.

But Luke is so _important_. Why can’t they see?

“Damn it,” he hisses. This is a mess. He’s only just getting started with Luke. It’s crucial to keep going. He can’t leave Luke alone after he’s gotten this far. It would be so wrong to just give up him; that’s what Luke’s counting on, and he doesn’t want to be just another deserter. He was supposed to be different. How could Ashton let him go?

If he leaves, Luke has nobody.

He glances at his phone. Michael is still running his mouth, and Calum’s trying to be more diplomatic in his approach, but it’s wearing on Ashton’s patience. It’s being blown out of proportion, but then, if they’re going to react like this, maybe Luke’s the better choice after all.

Why do things have to be so damn complicated? It should be so much easier than this. If Michael could only stop being so possessive, stop biting his head off, things would go more smoothly. Why did he ever get involved with Luke?

But he knows the answer. It’s because he couldn’t resist jumping in to be Luke’s hero. It’s because he wanted to be stupid and noble. But really, it’s because there was just something about Luke’s eyes--this troubled sea--and he was swept away in the outgoing tide.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you back so early?” Luke’s mother asks the second he steps into the house.

Luke doesn’t want to tell her how things went down, so he settles for a lie. “I just got tired,” he fibs, fidgeting under her scrutiny.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back,” she says brightly. “Your father and I were just about to go to dinner. Now you can come with us. Go get ready.”

Luke doesn’t really want to go to dinner. He wants to go to his room, lock himself in, and blast his music louder than his thoughts, so he doesn’t have to be out of his mind tonight. But he dares not say anything, since his mother looks so hopeful, and his father will shoot him down and accuse him of being too asocial. And really, he doesn’t have the energy for a fight.

“I’ll just go like this,” he says, and she shrugs and grabs her purse.

“Let’s go, then.”

Luke could cry at the thought of spending the night trapped in a restaurant with his parents, trying to pretend everything’s normal, but he swallows it down. Maybe this will be enough interaction to last him the month.

Twenty minutes later he sits across from his parents, staring morosely at his menu while they talk. He hasn’t ventured a word all night. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets upset. This always happens--trying to get along, be like the picture perfect family. That’s how things were when his brother lived at home. Luke never quite lived up to the same standards. Not as smart, not as good at sports, and far less social. He never stood a chance.

“Luke,” his father says. “Luke. Are you paying attention?”

“What?” Luke says, glancing up.

“I asked how you’re planning to get your grades up before the semester ends.”

“Maybe it’s not the best time,” his mother says warningly, setting a hand on his arm.

“There’s never a good time,” he scoffs. “It’s just a question.”

“It’s fine,” Luke says quickly, trying to calm the situation down. “Uh, I’m just trying to work harder.”

“Is that going to be good enough?”

Luke doesn’t know what to say. He knows he must have this deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. “Uh, I don’t know. If I do well on my finals--”

“You better be studying,” his father warns him. “Your time is running short, kid.”

“I know,” Luke says, looking back down at the menu, although he isn’t really reading it anymore.

“So what about this kid whose house you were at?” his father says, thankfully switching topics. Luke can at least lie about this convincingly.

“Ashton?” Luke asks, and his father nods. “He goes to my school.”

“Obviously,” he says distastefully. Luke tries harder to satisfy him.

“I met him during the showcase last year. He did tech,” Luke says. “He’s a senior.”

This proves to be the wrong thing to say. His father narrows his eyes, and Luke grows uncomfortable, squirming. “A senior?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, barely audible. “He’s...nice.”

“Did he invite you over?”

“Yeah,” Luke says quietly. “He’s my friend.”

It sounds ridiculous even to Luke. He still has his doubts. But to convince his father that Ashton’s intentions are pure, he has to try to believe it.

“Why would a senior want to be friends with you?” his father asks, squinting at Luke as if he can spot out the reason.

Luke’s hands clench over the edge of the table, knuckles popping. “I don’t know,” he says, gritting his teeth.

“What happened to those nice friends you used to have?” he asks, frowning at Luke. “Jason? Alexander? They were such good kids. Good families, too.”

 _Oh, yeah, they were really good kids,_ Luke thinks. _Right until the point where they ditched me because I was “too sad”._

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Luke’s better off now without them.

Luke didn’t tell his parents what happened, of course, so he merely shrugs and says, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t _know_?” his father insists. “Aren’t you still friends?”

Luke shrugs again, wondering how to get out of this. “I guess.” Except, of course, he hasn’t seen them in months.

“Then why are you hanging around this Ashton kid?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” Luke says with a sigh. “Can you drop this?”

“Watch your tone. Don’t get exasperated with me. I’m just trying to have some friendly dinner conversation.”

“You’re interrogating me,” Luke counters. “There’s nothing wrong with Ashton.”

“We’re not saying that at all,” his mother says deliberately, glaring at his father. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

Luke sits through another hour of excruciating small talk and passive-aggressive remarks. When he gets home, he shuts himself in his room, turns his music on extra loud, and curls up in bed until he can’t hear a thing over the screaming.

 

* * *

 

Luke wakes up to a hell storm of texts from Ashton. Apologies and pleas for him to reply. He’s not even really mad, he just can’t stand to deal with Ashton and his stupid friends. When he thinks about trying to formulate a response, exhaustion settles over him. If he wasn’t so desperate not to be totally alone, not to lose the one person who has the smallest clue of who he really is, he would tell Ashton he didn’t want to continue like this.

If only he had the strength.

He stays in bed most of the day, being alone in the house while both of his parents work, lacking the energy he needs. He hardly thinks about food, homework, anything he should be taking care of.

There’s a sort of void in him, something sucking everything out of him. That’s the problem. Even with worries relatively small like this, Luke finds himself sinking. In his mind, he doesn’t see a point to continuing. The only thing stopping him--the chief reason he’s still here--is that he’s too afraid to take those steps. And he knows he won’t do it, so it’s more ideation than anything else.

He could do it, too. He’s alone in the house. He has access to whatever method of destruction he chooses. Every time he gets close, he stops. Why is he afraid? Everyone must die. What use is there dancing around it?

There’s always just that one voice that outweighs the rest. The _maybe things will get better_. The _what if there’s something you’ll be missing?_

Luke doesn’t know why he bothers to hope. It’s not like those prophecies get fulfilled.

But today he’s not seriously considering it. There’s not quite this sense of urgent finality, fatal resignation, just a dragging pain that curls him tighter into a ball. He knows what he wants, but doesn’t want to do it. It’s a game he plays. The longer he resists it, the more he’s dying to do it.

Why does he even try to resist? He has no self-control. There’s no use even pretending like he’s going to stay clean.

If he’s going to do it anyway, there’s no point in waiting. The urge might pass. And oddly, Luke doesn’t want that.

He slowly uncurls and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and standing. The blood rushes from his head and he blinks, clearing his vision of the temporary blackout. He grabs his phone and slips the case off, taking out the blade he keeps inside.

Then he walks down the hall like a man marching to the scaffold, and locks himself in the bathroom.

When he emerges, he smells like copper, feels worthless, and looks like a dead man walking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so shitty i don't even care most of this fic i wrote at like two in the morning the night before it was due back in december lmao sorry


	7. seven

On Monday, when school resumes, Luke can’t stop running his fingers over his jeans, feeling the spots where his skin is raised, ignoring the burn of the rough fabric rubbing against his skin. With his tightest pairs of jeans, he can see the bumps if he looks hard enough.

This odd, unhinged fascination keeps him occupied through most of the morning, stealing his focus. He gets lectured by a good number of his teachers on not doing his work.

Even though afterwards there’s always relief, the following day is when it hits harder than the night before. Luke wants to be home so badly he considers going home early, faking illness to escape the rest of the day. But his mother, being a teacher, can’t leave work until her school day is up, and his father will be at work late into the night; although he could probably pick Luke up, Luke knows he won’t.

During the 2nd passing period, he doesn’t bother looking for Ashton. He suspects that Ashton will have taken a separate path to avoid him. And whether or not this is Ashton’s intention, Luke’s trip to his next class is solitary and uninterrupted.

It’s lonely and discouraging, but not in the least surprising. After Luke ignored him all weekend, and pretty much made it clear he didn’t want to interact, either, was Ashton really going to continue like nothing happened? He’s either trying to give Luke space, or ignoring him back. It doesn’t make a difference. In any case, they aren’t talking. Does it matter why?

It doesn’t really hurt _that_ badly. That’s what Luke keeps repeating. He didn’t have friends before Ashton, and it’s just the natural state of things. He’s _used_ to it.

When he gets out for lunch, he deliberately takes the path that’ll lead him right past Ashton’s old lunch table. He doesn’t know what he wants to see.

If Ashton’s returned to that table, does it mean it’s over?

Luke holds his breath as he approaches. He’s afraid of what he might find. As he passes, his breath catches in his throat as he spots the back of Ashton’s curly head. Ashton’s leaning forward on his hands, face hidden.

Luke’s heart sinks in his chest. Why is he surprised? He knew already. Blood is thicker than water. His friends are pretty much his family at this rate, they’ve been together so long.

He resumes his normal lunch spot at his lonely table by himself. He was a fool to think Ashton would choose him over his other friends. After all, isn’t Luke always the second choice?

 

* * *

 

“So, how’s it going with Luke?” Ashton’s mother asks over dinner that night.

“Who’s Luke?” Lauren asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Ashton ignores her, sighing and putting down his fork. “We’ve hit a bit of a bump,” he admits. “It’s complicated. He won’t reply to my texts, I tried to give him space, and now I think he thinks I’m ignoring him.”

“Are you?” his mother asks.

“Of course not,” Ashton protests. “I just don’t want to push him.”

“What happens if you push him?”

Ashton can’t tell her, still, everything he knows about Luke. He isn’t sure why he holds back, other than it being Luke’s secret. Probably because she would want to talk about it, and long conversations about Luke aren’t going to do Ashton any favors.

“I don’t know,” he says, glaring at his dinner. “He’s so stubborn. He won’t tell me if this bothers him, which forces me to guess his next moves. I don’t even know if he’s upset. And meanwhile, Michael has turned into an absolute nightmare about the whole things. Keeps making jabs. Am I supposed to stick with my friends or with Luke? Don’t I owe it to my friends to stay with them?”

His mother looks taken aback. “Sounds like you should be ditching Michael, if you ask me.”

“Mom,” Ashton whines. “I’ve known him since second grade. It’s all easy for you to say that, but I’m not close enough with Luke to guarantee permanent friendship. If Luke falls through, I still need a plan B. And it’s not like I’m not still friends with Michael. He’s just being difficult.”

Ashton’s mother looks vaguely troubled. Ashton’s unusually agitated, and it’s fairly obvious he’s thought about the situation quite a bit. It’s been on his mind 24/7, practically. He’s even dreaming about it at this point.

“Can’t you be friends with both?”

“That’s the thing. They don’t want to sit with Luke, and I really doubt Luke wants to sit with them.” He conveniently omits the part about what went down Friday afternoon at the house. “I have to divide my time, and both of them demand my full attention. It’s just too complicated.”

“Who’s more worth it?” she asks.

“Both of them. I don’t know.”

“I’ll flip a coin,” she offers, and pulls one out of her wallet. She says, “Heads, your friends, tails, Luke,” and flips it before Ashton can argue.

“Mom...”

“Heads, it’s your friends.”

“But I can’t abandon Luke!” Ashton insists. “He needs me.”

“Aha,” his mother says triumphantly. “You’re disappointed. That means you go for Luke.”

“Mom,” Ashton grumbles, “this doesn’t solve anything.”

“Go sit with Luke tomorrow,” she tells him firmly. “If he’s so important, you’ll go. And if your friends are really your friends, they’ll find a way to stick with you.”

“You know they won’t stick around forever.”

“Then no loss to you.”

“Who’s Luke?” Lauren ventures again, as if afraid to bother Ashton.

Ashton just shrugs, because honestly, who knows who Luke really is?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is soooo short sorry i love you all for even reading xxx


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luke is just a sad little thing

8

Luke wasn’t aware a day could start off so terribly wrong, but he figures his day is pretty much ruined, now.

“If you don’t get your grades up soon, Luke,” his father had said, “I swear to God, I will not hesitate to take your guitar away and shut off your internet. If that’s what it takes, I will confiscate everything you love until you realize how serious this is.”

“I’m trying,” Luke had argued, wrapping his arms around himself protectively.

“Do you think colleges will accept that? Do you think they’ll say, ‘Let’s let the kid with a C average in. Oh well, at least he tried.’ Come on, Luke. We never had to lecture Jack about these things.”

“I’m not Jack,” Luke had nearly said, but had kept his mouth shut for fear of being yelled at worse. He had shut his eyes tight against the forming tears, refusing to cry in front of his father or at school, and so he’s gone through the day practically on the verge of tears.

He almost broke several times; getting the wrong answers, being reprimanded, everything had been a reason to push him over the edge. And goddamn, he was close.

Now it’s lunch time, and he’s this close to breaking at the memory that Ashton won’t be there to keep him company. It’s for the best, anyway. It would be embarrassing to cry in front of Ashton.

He sits down, not bothering to take his lunch. His stomach hurts every time he thinks of Ashton, and his father, and his grades. He used to be such a good student. Not as good as Jack, of course, but then, nobody was ever as good as Jack. How did he become so fragile?

He folds his arms on the table and puts his head down on top, eyes shut. The tears manage to leak out anyway, dampening the sleeves of his sweater slightly. He adjusts the ends of his sleeves so they cover his hands, shielding them from the cold. He prays nobody notices him crying in the corner of the quad, at the table all alone, because his reputation really doesn’t need another blow. But it’s not like anybody notices him, anyway.

“Luke?”

Luke doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to talk to Ashton, and frankly, he’s not sure why Ashton chose today to reunite with him. Instead, he just says, “What do you want?” The sound is muffled by the fabric and his arms.

“Can we talk?”

Luke keeps his head resting on his arms, just adjusts slightly so his forehead is in contact and he’s speaking towards the table, so Ashton can hear him. He exhales heavily, trying to calm his breathing so he sounds normal. Luke’s perfected the technique over the years through his locked door with his mother on the other side.

“What do you want, Ashton?”

Ashton sits down across from Luke. Through the holes in the table, Luke sees his feet cross. “You ignored me over the weekend. I’m really sorry, Luke, about everything my friends said.”

“So sorry, you ran right back to them on Monday.”

“I was trying to give you space.”

“I know,” Luke says, and he does. He’s not really bitter. Ashton’s too well-intentioned to be jaded towards.

“And maybe I could have gone about it better, I don’t know. It’s just been a while, it feels like. You know?”

“I know.”

Ashton pauses, looking at the top of Luke’s sandy-blond head. “You tired or something?”

“Something like that.”

“What time you go to bed?” Ashton asks, trying to steer the topic to mundane things.

“Ten.” And without his homework being finished. His grades are on a roller coaster down, and there’s a break in the track ahead where they’ll go flying off.

Ashton frowns. “That’s not too late.”

Luke has no will to continue this. “I’m always tired, Ashton.”

Ashton can’t help himself when he asks, “Luke, are you okay?”

Luke’s tears choke him. He can’t breathe. Ashton’s question is what’ll really break him; he’s been waiting all day for someone to notice his distress and ask if he’s okay. Figures it would be Ashton.

“Yeah,” Luke says, sounding strangled. “Why?”

“Luke,” Ashton says after a moment’s pause. “Look at me.”

“No,” Luke mumbles stubbornly, but it comes out more weakly than he’d like.

“Luke,” Ashton repeats, softer this time. “You alright?”

Luke forgets to be quiet and sobs out loud, exhausted and sick of pretending. He feels the table shake slightly and sees Ashton’s shoes disappear, and wonders briefly if Ashton freaked out and left. In a second, though, Ashton comes around to sit next to Luke, putting a careful arm around Luke’s shoulders and drawing him closer.

Ashton’s a lot bigger than Luke, so he has no trouble with pulling Luke closer. He’s blissfully warm, too, which is both comforting and a nice relief from the cold weather. Luke still cries quietly, because that’s just his habit, but Ashton has a soothing sort of presence, and Luke definitely doesn’t want to keep crying in front of him.

“Sorry,” Luke says when he catches his breath, shaking from the cold and the crying. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m ruining things again.”

“No, no,” Ashton says, not in the least fazed. He smooths down the back of Luke’s short hair, running his hand over repeatedly to calm Luke down, then rubbing his back for a bit. “It’s okay. You gonna tell me what happened?”

Luke doesn’t respond at first. Ashton presses, “Is it home, or did somebody say something--”

“No,” Luke says, cutting him off. How does he explain this to Ashton? The constant weight, the immaterial pain, the horrible emptiness? He needs to tell someone. Keeping it to himself is a nightmare. “It’s just--”

He can’t do it. There are so many ways he could put it. _I don’t want to be here right now. My dad wants me to be perfect and I’m too stupid for that. I’m lonely and it doesn’t help that I’m scared of being alone._

But he can’t say any of it. As always, because he can never get the courage, because he’s so goddamn useless, he says, “It’s just been a long day.”

Luke wants Ashton to say, _No, really, Luke, what’s wrong?_ He wants him to force Luke to look him in the eye and say, _Stop lying, Luke. Tell me what’s actually going on._ Luke’s burning out from the inside, and nobody can even tell.

“You’ll be okay,” Ashton says quietly, and squeezes his shoulders.

Luke doesn’t think he’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i always end up torturing luke in everything i write damn  
> oH and i love jack too and he's actually a really nice dude brother in this  
> tell me how you feel bc so far the comments made me feel so warm i love you all you're so nice honestly  
> :) xx


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff AND angst what's this? a miracle

9

A couple days later after school, Luke sits on the steps in front of school. His mother’s getting off work late, and his father has to work all day, and he has nobody to take him home.

It’s not so bad, usually. Luke’s naturally introverted and spends much of his time alone. But it’s raining, and Luke’s stuck in the cold and wet. In ten or fifteen minutes, he’s pretty much soaked through. His hair lies flat against his skin, damp and clingy. He can’t even wipe his face off with his sleeve, because his clothes are wet, too. He’s getting distinctly more uncomfortable by the minute. It’s all good for being dramatic, sitting in the rain alone, but Luke’s not really interested in self-pity.

The first hour passes and Luke starts shivering. He’s fairly small, and gets cold more easily than he’d like to admit. He yawns, his body trying to warm itself up. It’s futile. He just gets rain in his mouth. He thinks if he stood he’d probably drip, and he could wring himself out. His backpack shields his back from the downpour. He wishes he could take his guitar out and sing here in the rain--it’d be pretty cool, with the sky all grey and the rain pounding down around him--but then his guitar would get wet, and that can’t be good for it. Even being on his phone is risky, because the water could damage the technology. Luke’s bored and miserable.

Another half an hour and Luke’s violently shaking. His teeth chatter, and he curls tighter, trying to protect himself. He didn’t anticipate it raining. His canvas Vans have become wet enough to make his socks wet too, and his feet feel like they’re going to fall off. His hands have been numb for quite some time.

Soon he’s not alone in the front of the school. Sports end now, and a flood of soaking kids in athletic uniforms start filing out to be picked up. When they’re almost all gone, Ashton appears and sits next to Luke. It seems like no matter what Luke does Ashton manages to find him. He could travel overseas and Ashton would have a reason to be there.

“Luke,” Ashton exclaims, stopping next to him. “You’re soaked through. How long have you been sitting here?”

“S-s-since s-school got out,” Luke stutters, his clattering teeth interrupting his words. Ashton’s jaw drops.

“Holy--really? Why didn’t you go home?”

“Parents are working t-today,” Luke manages to say, and reaches up a pale finger to pull his now dark blond hair out of his eyes. It sticks damply to the side of his face. “It’s just h-half an hour left.”

Ashton groans. “You’re not sitting here for half an hour. You’re coming home with me.”

“It’s fine,” Luke tries to decline. If he sits in a car now, he’ll just make the seats wet.

“Luke, don’t be dense,” Ashton says impatiently. “I’m driving home now, and I’m taking you with me. You’re going to get sick if you stay out here like this. Come on. Text your mom, she’ll be fine with it.”

“You don’t have to,” Luke says. “I’ll get your s-seats wet.”

“That’s fine, I’m wet too,” Ashton points out, although he’s significantly drier than Luke. “If you don’t come with me I’ll pick you up and drag you to my car. Your choice.”

Luke reluctantly says, “Fine,” and gives in, mostly because he’s freezing and tired of sitting out here, and thinking about another half an hour brings tears to his eyes.

Ashton grins and reaches out a hand. Luke grasps it with his slick and icy hand, causing Ashton to wince. “You’re like ice. Jesus, Luke, you should have told me, I would have found someone to bring you home.”

“Nobody would have taken me,” Luke says, and Ashton pulls him across the street to his car.

“Nonsense. You underestimate the pity power of a small, freezing and drenched little sophomore. Anybody who walked by would want to take you in like a stray cat.”

Luke scowls, but he’s grateful Ashton’s taking him home, really, because he couldn’t stand to stay out there any longer. Ashton gets in the driver’s seat and reaches across, pushing Luke’s door open for him. Luke slides into the passenger seat, hunching himself up so he can generate some body heat. Ashton smirks at him and turns on the heat system. The air is cold, since the car hasn’t had time to warm up yet, so he switches it off again and starts the engine.

Luke takes out his phone and types out a quick message to his mother while Ashton pulls onto the road. He can barely type, accuracy difficult when he can’t feel his fingers. Feeling bad for doing so, he dries his fingertips on the edge of the car seat so his phone doesn’t get wet.

After a couple of minutes the car’s warm enough, and Ashton turns the heat on. Luke breathes a sigh of relief, slowly uncurling. His shivers die down enough to sit still, mostly.

“Sorry I’m getting your car wet,” Luke says guiltily. He feels genuinely bad about it.

Ashton rolls his eyes. “It’ll dry off, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Luke persists with a worried look.

“It’s the least of my worries. Right now we should probably get you home and you should get dry and warm, or else you really will get sick.”

“You don’t really get sick from the cold,” Luke says absently. “Your immune system gets weaker in the cold, and then you’re...more susceptible to sickness.”

“Like I would know,” Ashton says with a shrug. “I’m not as smart as you.”

“Wait,” Luke says, eyes widening in horror. “I don’t have a key to my house.”

Ashton doesn’t look in the least bothered. “Okay, well, you can come to my house. Maybe this time it’ll go better.”

As it’s a Friday, Luke reluctantly agrees. In a couple of minutes, Ashton pulls up to his house and gets out. He comes around and opens the door for Luke like a gentleman, and Luke winces at the blast of cold air when he steps out.

Ashton slings his arm around his shoulders and walks him up to the front door, when he digs his key out and shoulders open the door. Luke lets out a breath when he steps into the warmth of the house. It’s a nice change from the cold.

“Here, come on,” Ashton says, pushing him up the stairs and towards the bathroom. “Go wait in there, I’ll get you a towel and some clean clothes, and you can shower or something if you want.”

Luke waits patiently, nervously, dripping onto the tile floor. Ashton returns within minutes with extra towels and his smallest pair of jeans and a band tee. “Go ahead,” Ashton says, and Luke doesn’t miss the glance down at his thighs. He’s reminded of the last time he changed in front of Ashton, and how badly that went.

Luke doesn’t shower, feeling it would be weird in someone else’s house and fearing a little someone will walk in. He towels off and changes into the clothes, starting to feel a chill again without a sweater. He comes out of the bathroom and hears sounds from the living room. Ashton’s sitting on the couch, curled up, watching TV and leaning on the pillows resting against the armrest.

At the sound of the bathroom door opening, he looks up, and upon seeing Luke on the landing, starts laughing. Luke sighs. His clothes are far too big.

“Your clothes are giant,” Luke complains sadly.

“I wore those jeans when I was a freshman,” Ashton chokes. “Guess I wasn’t as skinny as you.”

Luke ignores him, rubbing down his hair with a towel. “Do you have a jacket or something?” he asks mildly, shifting his feet. He feels bad asking Ashton for more.

Ashton springs up immediately, heading to his room upstairs. Luke trails him awkwardly. Ashton riffles through his drawers, grabbing a sweater and tossing it to Luke. Luke slips it on, and it’s predictably too big for him.

“I look ridiculous,” Luke remarks mournfully.

“You look cute,” Ashton corrects. “Let’s go watch TV. I’m tired.”

Luke complies and follows him back downstairs and to the living room. Ashton curls up again on the sofa and Luke sits tentatively next to him. Ashton tosses a blanket over the both of them, and settles in.

After a while, Luke takes a risk and leans against Ashton slightly. Ashton doesn’t protest. A tiny smile forms, and he adjusts so Luke can sit better against him.

They’re about halfway through the show when Ashton says, “Wanna talk?”

Luke freezes in place, tensed and ready to run. “About what?”

Ashton shrugs, turning the TV down. “I always have questions. You know me.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, sitting up slightly. He stares down at his hands on top of the blanket, fidgeting nervously.

Ashton feels bad. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know,” Luke says, but he says nothing.

“Luke,” Ashton says gently, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Luke says, almost inaudible. He keeps fidgeting, swallowed up by Ashton’s oversized sweater, and Ashton’s struck by how incredibly small he looks. Not just physically, either. Luke has a tendency to shrink away from questions when he’s nervous. He’s high-anxiety, it seems.

“Luke.”

“I don’t know,” Luke blurts out, startling Ashton. “Everything’s just so--” He sighs, slumping. He bends his head. The white of the sweater is so soft against the harsh paleness of his skin, and he tugs at the neck of the sweater anxiously. He’s overwhelmed. This is the moment, he knows. He’s not going to lie to Ashton. If he asks, Luke will answer.

“So what?” Ashton presses.

“Bad,” Luke breathes. “It’s just too hard.” He shuts his eyes, sinking his face into his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Ashton says quickly. “What do you mean bad?”

Luke just melts under his gaze. Ashton’s the first one to keep after it like this. Luke’s been waiting for someone to come along and figure him out.

“I don’t know,” Luke whispers. “I feel like I’m drowning. I can hardly drag myself out of bed in the morning, I have no energy. Some days it’s like somebody’s hammering on my chest, some days it’s like I don’t feel anything at all. And I feel like I keep dropping all these hints. To my parents, to my teachers, but nobody guesses. Nobody can tell. I’m probably being ridiculous.”

“You’re not being ridiculous,” Ashton says calmly. “Tell me more.”

Luke turns to look at Ashton with desperate eyes. “You saw the marks, you know what I do. And I keep wondering when someone will finally stop me and ask me. When I’ll get careless and leave a blade out and my parents will find out. When someone will finally say, Luke, you don’t look okay. Luke, are you crying? Luke, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

He lets out a sob, then tries to suppress it, holding a hand to his mouth and silencing himself. Ashton waits, on edge. He doesn’t like seeing Luke upset this way. Luke seems so young, and so incredibly alone. It’s not fair.

Luke throws his hands up in frustration, then wipes under his eyes. “And then all my friends left, not that I need them, and my parents keep pressuring me, and how am I supposed to focus in school when I don’t even want to be there?”

“Can’t you take a couple of days off?” Ashton says, concerned.

“No, Ashton,” Luke says, his voice getting rough, “you don’t get it. It’s not that I don’t just want to be at school. I don’t want to be _here_. As in, I’m tired of going to sleep praying I won’t wake up in the morning. Nobody would even miss me.”

“I would miss you,” Ashton says, a lump growing in his throat. Luke puts his hands over his mouth again, crying silently. He hates how Luke does that, like he’s afraid to be heard.

“But you’re the only one,” Luke says his voice nearly giving out on him with the anguish. “That’s what’s wrong, Ashton. I’m trying so hard not to ruin things.”

“You aren’t ruining anything,” Ashton repeats for the millionth time. “Stop that. You’re depressed, so what? That doesn’t mean you have to filter yourself and keep it to yourself. I told you I would be your friend. That’s what I’m here for.”

Luke nods violently. “I know. I know.” He takes a deep breath, and the tears slow as he calms down.

“I’m lonely,” he adds in a low voice, a strange calm taking over. “I’m not a ghost. But I’m invisible to everyone. Nobody _sees_ me, Ashton.”

Ashton reaches across and covers Luke’s trembling hands in one of his own. “I notice you, Luke,” he says quietly. “I _see you_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i'm sorry this started as fluff but you know how that goes


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> actual fluff pigs are flying

10

It’s like trying to run against a brick wall, and suddenly it collapses. It’s as if Ashton can finally reach through to Luke. Luke’s oddly quieter, but he seems more at peace. The thing Ashton didn’t quite anticipate is that the problems run deep.

It’s been hard for Ashton to see him in this light. He knew Luke was quiet, but he didn’t hadn’t known him very well before, and everything is a shock. It’s difficult to watch him struggle, because Ashton feels a sort of protectiveness over him he can’t explain.

But he can’t follow Luke home, so he has to draw the line and let go.

Still, he’s stopped sitting with his other friends, telling them that he’s taking a break from them for a while. He’s admittedly a bit relieved to have them out of his hair.

At lunch, Luke is quiet. He keeps running his fingers over his jeans, and Ashton knows what it means. Luke told him before that he can’t help it the day after, and so he can guess well enough what happened the night before.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ashton offers.

Luke shakes his head and stares down at the hole-riddled table. “Not really.”

Ashton nods, accepting it without a fight. Even when Luke gets the nerve up to admit what he did, he never talks about it. Never gives a reason, never describes it, doesn’t talk about the severity. Ashton can only guess. Some days he can tell it’s worse if Luke walks slowly, trying to reduce the friction between his ragged skin and the rough denim of his jeans.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Bad,” Luke mumbles. “You?”

“Okay,” Ashton replies. “Stick out your wrist.”

Luke glances up, startled. “My wrist’s fine.”

“Stick it out, then,” Ashton says, shrugging.

Luke reluctantly sticks it out. Like he said, it’s perfectly clean. Ashton smiles and undoes one of the friendship bracelets he wears under his jacket sleeve. There are dozens of them, gifted to him by his sister, accompanied by bracelets with band logos and slogans. He takes off the pale lavender and pink one his sister made and ties it with care around Luke’s wrist.

“What’s that for?” Luke says, peering at it. “I don’t do anything to my wrists,” he repeats.

“I know,” Ashton says, and continues with his lunch. He doesn’t say anything else. Luke doesn’t question it, either. He just retracts his arm and smiles down at the bracelet, playing with it and rotating it around his wrist.

 

* * *

 

It’s the first time for as long as Luke can remember that he feels loved.

It’s stupid, really. Ashton will be gone next year, and will forget all about Luke. But it’s had an obvious effect. As the number of bracelets transferred to Luke’s arms increases, so does his GPA. His problems are far from being gone, of course. But Ashton’s existence gives Luke something to look forward to; it gives him at least one reason to live through each day, literally.

Whatever friends Luke had before never cared as much. Of course, he never really got around to telling them everything he told Ashton, but then, they hightailed it out of there just because he was too sad. That’s reason enough for Luke to think they wouldn’t have cared. It’s a fairly logical train of thought.

All Luke had ever wanted was for someone to believe in him. For someone to notice him. It was hard enough being naturally shy; it was harder when he was slowly sinking from existence.

And then, nobody had ever believed in him as much as Ashton.

Today, Ashton’s taken him out to the back field on a Saturday morning to play soccer. Luke’s not at all prepared. He still wore jeans and a sweatshirt, mostly because he doesn’t feel comfortable in the same kind of shorts and t-shirt getup Ashton wears to play. And because if his shorts slip up far enough, there’s bound to be discomfort.

“Okay, you know how to play?” Ashton asks, some distance away, expertly dribbling the ball around. Luke feels his mouth dry up.

“Not really,” he says nervously. Ashton kicks it at him without a thought, and Luke dives aside and lets it sail past him. “Uh, can you go easy?”

Ashton smirks, watching Luke retrieve the ball. “You should have worn shorts. You run like a lame duck.”

“Thanks, Ashton, that really boosts my confidence.”

“Just kick it with the inside of your foot as hard as you can. You can improve accuracy later. Alright, kick it here, loser,” Ashton taunts. Luke frowns, grits his teeth, and sends it as hard as he can towards Ashton. Which is, incidentally, not very hard at all, and nowhere near Ashton.

Ashton just snickers and retrieves the ball. “Okay. When you stop it, you want to stop it with the inside of your foot, too. Right here.” He gestures to the space between the toe and his ankle on his cleats. The cleats are dirty and worn out from excessive use, but clearly expensive and professional. Luke feels stupid in his tennis shoes.

He kicks it to Luke, and Luke yelps and jumps aside. Ashton groans this time. “No, Luke, you can’t just dodge the ball. Soccer doesn’t work that way.”

“I can’t help it,” Luke whinges. “You’re kicking it too hard.”

“Not even,” Ashton protests. “Kick it harder this time. Give me a challenge, sophomore.”

Luke ignores Ashton’s name-calling and gets ready to kick the ball, calculating carefully. He can see the angle he should kick it at. He’s determined to get this right.

He gears up and kicks it, and it goes only a little farther than last time.

Ashton looks smug. Luke rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” Luke says preemptively. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay, okay,” Ashton says, putting his hands up in surrender. “Do you want to actually play? Maybe you’ll be better at dribbling. Or maybe not.”

“You can leave,” Luke mutters, but gets ready anyway. Ashton kicks it gently to him, a baby kick. Luke stumbles over his feet, tripping all over the place, but manages to stay upright. He kicks it back to Ashton, nearly falling in the process.

“Okay, get on goal,” Ashton yells. “I’m gonna shoot. If it goes the wrong way you deflect it in.”

Luke hesitantly does so, positioning himself in front of the goal.

Ashton dribbles it for a bit before kicking it ahead of him and getting a running start, kicking it with unrivaled force towards the goal--and Luke.

Luke remembers mostly intense, paralyzing panic.

The distance from the goal means the ball’s trajectory hit Luke lower than it would have had Ashton been up close (something Luke is extremely thankful for), and so it misses his face, but it smacks right into his right thigh. Luke bends over immediately, holding his thigh.

Ashton’s shock is priceless, but Luke’s in too much pain to appreciate it. There’s an aching, burning pain. The torn mess of his skin is inflamed. The blotchy bruising that makes Luke’s legs so sore in addition to the stinging when his jeans rub against the skin is probably made ten times worse, although he’ll have to get home and see. Luke crumples to the ground, vision going momentarily black.

Ashton throws himself to the ground desperately, trying to evaluate how badly he’s injured Luke. He curses repeatedly in between apologizing profusely for being careless and forgetting that Luke’s an amateur.

Luke’s vision clears and he sits on the grass, still gripping at his thigh. Pain radiates out from where the ball hit. Ashton’s a strong enough player that just the kick alone would take someone out, but coupled with Luke’s already damaged flesh, it’s a killer shot.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Ashton says frantically, kneeling by Luke. “Are you okay? How bad is it? Did it reopen? Does it hurt? Do we need to go home?”

“It’s okay,” Luke gasps, the pain starting to recede, although barely. “Don’t--don’t worry. I’m fine.” He smiles unconvincingly, his expression too pained to properly play it off.

“It’s not fine,” Ashton frets. “I’m sorry, I just lost myself in the moment, I didn’t think it’d hit you. And you just stood there.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s my fault,” Luke says, and groans. “Nice shot.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Ashton sighs. “Do you want to go home? I can carry you to the car if you want.”

“Stop,” Luke moans. “I’m fine. Just give me a bit to recover, yeah?”

“Okay,” Ashton says, rocking back to a sitting position. There’s a silence between them. Some birds chatter in the distance, and there’s the faint sound of cars on the nearest road. “So...how recent was it?”

Luke takes a deep breath. “Do you have to?”

“What?”

“Bring it up all the time.”

Ashton shrugs, looking at his hands. “I wouldn’t have, but if it hurt that much...”

“It was deep, that’s all,” Luke says abruptly, not looking him in the eye. “Three nights ago.”

“Oh,” Ashton says, the breath suddenly sucked out of his lungs.

“Can I ask you something, then?” Luke says out of the blue.

Ashton looks up, surprised. “Hmm?”

“Do you think it, like...” Luke trails off, and then shakes his head. “Never mind. Bad question.”

“No, spill,” Ashton says, curious. “What?”

Luke squirms, staring in the opposite direction. “Am I damaged? Like, is that why nobody wants to be friends with me?”

“Nobody knows, Luke,” Ashton reminds him.

Luke rephrases it. He’s trying to avoid saying it. It sounds so ridiculous, but Ashton’s not a mind reader. “I mean,” he says softly, “does it make me hard to love?”

Ashton exhales loudly. “Oh.”

“Well?” Luke says, suddenly anxious. “Honestly?”

“I don’t think it makes you hard to love,” Ashton says, and he means it. Heaven knows he loves Luke enough. “It’s just something you’re going through. It doesn’t define you.”

“Do you mean it, or are you just saying that?” Luke asks, rocking slightly. He won’t look at Ashton.

“Look at me, Luke,” Ashton says, moving so he’s right up against Luke. He turns his head. His heart speeds up, in anticipation of what he’s about to do, what he’s wanted to do for weeks.

Luke turns to look at him, although he keeps his eyes cast down. Ashton tips up his chin with a finger.

“Yeah?” Luke says, almost unable to say it.

Ashton smiles. “I.” He touches his chest. “Love.” He touches Luke’s chest, right where his heart is. “You.” He touches Luke’s cheek. And then, slowly, he leans in and touches Luke’s lips with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this wasn't too bad


	11. eleven

“He kissed me,” Luke says, beaming. He can hardly contain his excitement. He’s kept his voice down the whole time, trying not to alert his parents.

“Really?” Jack says, adjusting his camera. He looks indifferent, although the video call’s quality is too low to get an accurate reading. Luke’s smile fades a little. He thought he could count on Jack being excited for him.

“Yeah,” Luke says, faltering.

“Isn’t he a senior?” Jack wonders.

“Well...yeah.”

“And you’re a sophomore. You’re fifteen. He’s seventeen. Right?”

“...Yeah.”

“Okay,” Jack says, nodding. “My guess is you haven’t told Mom and Dad?”

Luke shakes his head gloomily. “They would flip. For so many reasons.”

“Like?”

“He’s a senior, it’s my first, not to mention he’s a guy.”

“I don’t think they’re like that,” Jack says calmly. “Have you talked to him since?”

“Yeah,” Luke confirms. “He comes to sit with me at lunch.”

Jack looks slightly more pleased. “Guess he sounds okay.”

Luke could go on for hours about Ashton, frankly. He drops his voice again. “You know what I do,” he says quietly. “The--you know.” Jack had found his first blade when he’d left it in the bathroom, carelessly, too fuzzy and disoriented to have noticed he’d left it behind. They hadn’t talked about it at the time, but after confiding in Ashton, it was easier the second time. Jack had taken it how any older brother would have, worried almost to the point of driving back down from college.

“What we talked about last week,” Jack says carefully.

Luke looks uncomfortable. “Yeah. He knows. So I’m not really worried.” That’s sort of a lie. He is a bit worried. How could he not be? But he trusts Ashton more than anyone, really.

“Well, congrats, you’ve hit a milestone,” Jack says. “And school? How is it?”

Luke shrugs. “Still invisible.”

“Grades?”

“Passing, now.”

“Good,” Jack says, smiling. “I gotta go, but Luke? Promise me you’ll be safe.”

Luke’s heart sinks a little. It’s been easier with Ashton, but in the big scheme of things, Luke needs more than that.

“I’ll try,” he says, ducking his head.

“No, Luke. Don’t try. _Be_ safe. I won’t be back until Christmas break. If you can trust this Ashton kid, then please tell him if you’re going to try anything.”

“Okay,” Luke says, although when it comes down to it, it’s hard to say where he’ll turn for help, or if he’ll want help at all. When things get bad, he knows he’ll have little power.

“I’ll see you later,” Jack says. “Night, little brother.”

“Goodnight,” Luke echoes, thinking about his intentions, and the camera shuts off.

 

* * *

 

A couple nights later, Luke tests the question of whether he’ll turn to Ashton in a crisis.

It’s been a snowball night. Some days are like that--from the minute he wakes up, he knows things are going downhill, and his luck proves especially rotten today.

It starts with yet another argument about grades, which are passing now anyway, and makes Luke feel like he’s done nothing--and this time, it’s a double attack; his father decides to discuss his attitude.

As usual, Luke is paralyzed, the volume and intensity of his father’s reprimands scaring him into silence. It’s too hard to explain to him without spilling everything that when he woke up, he’d cried for twenty minutes in his room just at the mere thought of going to school, and that he hadn’t been able to eat because the stress and anxiety was giving him a stomach. And even then, it wouldn’t seem an adequate excuse for being so quiet on the drive to school.

Going into first period, nobody could miss the tear tracks on Luke’s face, or the way he shook still.

Nobody had said a thing.

And now he sits at lunch, stone cold and in a stunned daze. Ashton looks disconcerted. Every time he asks a question, Luke opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. Luke can’t seem to find his voice. That’s how it used to be. A kiss and some hand-holding didn’t change that aspect of Luke. It just hid it, Ashton realizes. Is he helping at all?

“Luke?” he says mildly, afraid Luke might suddenly snap out of it. “Maybe you should go home early. You don’t look so good.”

Luke shakes his head slowly. Going home would be bad for participation grades in his remaining classes.

“You sure?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods, eyes trailing down to where his hands rest on his jeans. Ashton follows his eyes and silently exhales with a sort of resignation.

The rest of the day passes in silence. It’s like the world has shut down on Luke.

He gets home and drops his backpack in his room and collapses on his bed face down, burying his face in his pillow. He’s really fighting it today, because Jack told him to, and he doesn’t want to face Ashton being disappointed.

He puts real effort into his homework, a sort of nose-to-the-grind motivation that keeps him going for a bit. After the lecture this morning, he doesn’t want to have any reason to upset his father again. As the night wears on, Luke grows tired. He has to finish his homework for tomorrow; there’s this sense of urgency tonight he can’t shake, and soon he’s in tears, staring down at his homework, needing to give up.

There are so many things he wants to give up on.

_Useless. Stupid. Get your homework done. Even your father thinks you’re useless. He always tells you you’ll never be as good as Jack._

“Shut up,” he whispers, pushing his swivel chair away from his desk. He presses his hands to his temples. Talking to himself. Great. As if he wasn’t crazy enough already.

His mind keeps pulling him back to what he knows will solve everything. His hands twitch over his thighs, knowing what’s beneath the fabric. Knowing what he could do.

It’s frighteningly easy, and he knows he just has to commit to it.

But he doesn’t _want_ to. For the first time, he’s tired of it. He doesn’t have the energy for it. Yet he still aches for it, aches for the solution that’ll drown out the voice in his head.

He finds himself in tears, shaking his head and trying to dissuade himself. He gets up and crumples onto his bed, curling up against the pillows and grabbing his phone. He hesitates over Ashton’s name, then Jack’s.

He settles on Ashton.

 

* * *

 

Ashton picks up his phone, frowning when he sees Luke’s number. What could Luke want when it’s almost midnight?”

He presses “Answer” and holds it to his ear, waiting. Almost immediately, Luke lets loose an incoherent stream of words. Ashton winces.

“Slow down, Luke, I didn’t understand a word of that.”

“Okay, okay,” Ashton says, wishing now he didn’t understand it. But he heard Luke clearly enough. He wants to help, but he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing, or being inefficient. “Luke, where are you?”

Luke sniffles. “In my room.”

“Okay. Are your parents awake?”

“No.”

Ashton pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Luke, you’re gonna be okay. Listen to me now. You can get past this. I know today you weren’t feeling great, and that your dad said some things, but what he said, it isn’t true. You don’t have to live up to your brother. You’re a different person entirely.”

“What if--he’s right, Ashton? I can’t even finish my fucking--”

“Luke, it’s okay, don’t freak out. Just take a couple of deep breaths for me. Like that, yeah. You know what you’re going through, you know your grades are improved. You’re doing the best you can. Don’t put yourself up to these standards your dad has set.”

“He never stops, he always says these things,” Luke stammers, hysterical. “He doesn’t love me, Ashton, he wanted me to be like Jack.”

“Luke, stop for a second. Your dad loves you. I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”

In this way, Ashton slowly brings Luke back down.

“You good now?” Ashton checks, and Luke heaves a shuddery breath.

“Yeah. I think I’m good now. Ashton?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Luke,” Ashton says, relieved. “Goodnight, Luke. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i look back at this and i can't believe i wrote it lol


	12. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ashton fucks up big time

12

It’d be quite the overstatement to say things are perfect, but for Luke, things have been wrong for so long, this is the closest thing he’s found.

Ashton finds himself wanting too much, sometimes. Wanting to rush Luke into recovery, wanting to push him out of his comfort zone. It takes some time for him to realize that it won’t happen as fast as he wants, that this is a major journey and he needs to be patient with Luke and with himself.

Sometimes it seems like Luke’s remaining static, that Ashton has no effect. It took Luke actually telling him to realize that if it weren’t for him, Luke might not still be here; Luke could be worse. Being better is a far off prospect.

But good things don’t last forever. Especially, as far as Luke’s concerned, for him.

Luke senses trouble from a mile away. Or really more like a foot away, which is about how close Ashton’s friends are to the table.

Luke didn’t expect them to show up, and by the looks of it, neither did Ashton. He knows Ashton’s maintained a rather strained relationship with them, but it was pretty much accepted that Luke would never come into contact with them. Not with the way it went last time.

And yet, here they are.

Ashton stands rather abruptly, eyes flashing danger. “What are you doing here?” he asks, keeping an even tone.

“Came to visit,” Calum says. “You gonna let us sit, or what?”

Luke doesn’t want them to sit at all. It invades his personal bubble. It violates his privacy even to have them standing here. But he has no choice. He has no voice.

“Uh,” Ashton says, caught off guard. He glances at Luke uneasily. Luke is equally apprehensive.

“Great,” Calum says, taking the initiative and sitting next to Luke. Too close, too close. Luke squirms away.

“So what’s up?” Michael asks, and Luke doesn’t trust him at all.

“Not much,” Ashton says, his words measured and careful. “The usual.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Not that we’d know what that is, you feel?”

Ashton doesn’t respond. His jaw is tense, defined. Luke doesn’t want to be here.

“Chill,” Calum says with a pointed look at Michael. “Just thought we’d make peace with you and--” He nods at Luke. “This little dude.”

“He’s not little,” Ashton mutters.

“Like hell he isn’t,” Michael snaps back.

Ashton turns to him, clearly ticked off. “Do you have a problem, Michael? Because you can leave at any time. Nobody’s forcing you to sit here. You came of your own accord.”

Michael stands up abruptly, slamming his hands down on the table. “Are you serious? Yeah, I have a problem. You seem to think Luke’s more important than us. You’ve been ditching us for, what, a month and a half? So fucking forgive me. It doesn’t feel so good to be ditched. I thought we were friends.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ashton says through gritted teeth. “Just because I’m dating Luke doesn’t mean I have to stop being friends with you. You’re just too pigheaded to--”

“What?” Calum says, jaw dropping. Luke gasps. Because after all this time, they never told anyone. And these aren’t the first people Luke would have told. Calum swivels his head back and forth between Ashton and Luke. “You’re _dating?_ ”

Luke’s heart kicks into overdrive. He’s breathing so fast, he can’t see. The world closes in on him. He can feel the stares from Ashton’s friend, he can feel them judging, and all he can hear in the back of his head is _loser loser loser loser_ and Luke wants to die on the spot.

He can hear them thinking it, too.

“We’re not dating,” Luke says, standing up so suddenly the table rattles. He shakes his head back and forth, back, forth, back, forth.

Ashton stands up, too. “Luke.”

“We’re _not_ dating,” Luke repeats, desperate. If he says it enough, it must be true. “We’re not.”

The blood rushes in his ears. He grabs his backpack and stalks down the hall, away, feeling his face burn. He’s not coming out, they’re not coming out, he’s not dating Ashton, he can’t breathe. It’s like being thrown into the ocean without warning and there are sharks circling.

He isn’t ready.

 

* * *

 

Ashton apprehends him after school in front of the locker room. Luke’s rushing out, trying to leave before Ashton arrives, but Ashton catches him by the shoulder and spins him around.

“Luke,” he says, urgent. “We need to talk.”

“You have soccer,” Luke mumbles, trying to pull away. Ashton yanks him back. For the first time, Luke hates their size difference.

“Why did you say we weren’t dating?” Ashton asks abruptly.

“We’re not,” Luke whispers, wrapping his arms around himself.

“We _kissed._ We fucking act like we’re dating, if we weren’t, why did you lead me on?”

“Lead you on?” Luke sputters. “I didn’t--Ashton, you have to tell them you were kidding.”

“Luke, it’s not even a big deal. Why are you being so ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous?” Luke says incredulously. “Ridiculous? Ashton, you told two people who hate my guts that we’re dating. That I’m gay. You shoved me out of the closet face first.”

“I came out, too,” Ashton snaps. “You think it didn’t affect me? I’ve known those guys since elementary school, you know how hard they grilled me when you left? I didn’t even mean to say it, Luke.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Luke says, and tries to pull away again. “But you did. You have soccer, you’re going to be late.”

“Oh, to hell with soccer!” Ashton yells, and Luke jumps. People start staring, and Luke shrinks.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have denied it if you hadn’t just sprung it on me like that,” Luke says, trembling in his grasp.

“Oh, so you admit we were dating? Fuck you, Luke. I left my friends for you, do you get that? I put my friendships on the line. ”

“I didn’t ask you to. I _never_ asked you to leave your friends. I told you to stay with them.”

“Come on, Luke. I told two people. Why is this such a big deal?”

Luke’s lips part in surprise. “Ashton,” he says, shaking, his voice low, “ _everyone knows_. I was invisible. I didn’t _want_ this kind of attention. I know they’re your friends, but it was my choice, too. And guess what? People aren’t so nice about it to me. I’m sure you’re popular enough it doesn’t matter. Star of the soccer team. Meanwhile, nobody Luke gets shoved into a sports locker. Do you even understand? Does that matter to you at all?”

Luke’s so mad he can’t see straight. Ashton snaps, “It was an _accident_. Do we matter at all? Or did you mean it when you said we weren’t dating?”

Luke hisses out a breath of exasperation. “You know what, Ashton? Maybe we shouldn’t. I think we need to take a break.”

Ashton’s eyebrows raise. “Really? You know what that means, Luke. When people take breaks, they never last. This’ll be the end of us.”

“Then maybe we should be done,” Luke says, and the world stops for both of them. He doesn’t look at Ashton. “I’m going home.”

Ashton curses, flooding with realization. “No. Luke, wait, don’t--”

“Go to soccer,” Luke says, voice rising. “I’ll see you after break.”

And then he’s gone, and Ashton knows they won’t see each other after break at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rushed conflict is my specialty. ashton needs to get his shit together


	13. thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :(

13

Luke cries the whole way home.

He doesn’t even care that his mother’s looking concerned. His fling with Ashton started and ended so quickly, the fleeting sunset to a beautiful day. Over in a flash. He didn’t stand a chance.

He should have known better. He was so naive to believe that it would _work_ , that Ashton would understand him any better than anyone else. And like everyone else, Ashton is just a loose end that Luke never got the time to tie off. He’s alone again, so soon.

He’s known pain before, but none like the stabbing in his chest. Had anyone asked Luke before this year if it was possible for your heart to physically hurt, Luke might have said no. Now, he could tell you all about what it feels like. Seems like the pain hardly ever eases.

What’s the point? Luke is alone. Ashton was his only hope. There’s nothing left. If he lives to tomorrow, nobody will care. If he doesn’t, nobody will bat an eyelid. Luke is so insignificant. One person in 7 billion. When he dies, he’ll be forgotten like everyone else.

He doesn’t want to hold out. There’s always been a reason for him to continue to the next day, even if it was just fear. The only thing stopping him is Jack.

And then again, Jack probably wouldn’t care. Nobody would. Luke will simply fade from this world like another ghost being yanked to the other side. So he runs on borrowed time, just waiting for the night when he finally, at last, achieves that perfect moment in time.

 

* * *

 

Ashton sits at home three days before Christmas. Calum and Michael are messing around in his room, presumably overjoyed to have gained their best friend back. Ashton remains morose, sitting in the corner and staring at his knees in the most unfriendly manner.

“Lighten up, dude,” Michael says cheerfully. “You’re free. We got you back.”

Free isn’t exactly what Ashton would call it. He may have deleted Luke’s number so he doesn’t make the mistake of calling him if he’s ever drunk or making bad decisions. He may be single. But he doesn’t feel free at all. He knows he’s still tied to Luke in a terribly unfair way. And this isn’t how he wanted to get his friends to forgive him.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Totally.”

Calum and Michael playing some ridiculous video game on his computer. Normally Ashton would keep an eye on it to make sure they aren’t messing around on his personal stuff, but he can’t bring himself to care. What’s the point? If they do something, it’s not like Ashton can stop them, anyway.

“Seriously, you’re like a dog that’s been kicked,” Calum says, eyes glued to the monitor. “Cheer up a little. It’s not so bad. You’ll find some girl--ah, guy.”

“Just shut up,” Ashton says flatly, scowling. “You don’t get it. You wanted this all along, didn’t you?”

“Mate, if we’d known you and Luke were a thing--”

“Oh, please, you wouldn’t have done anything differently.”

“Okay, maybe not. But we do feel bad, man. We didn’t mean to cause any trouble between you guys.”

“Yes. You _did_. That’s what you were trying to do from the start. Because you were both so unbelievably possessive.” Ashton stands up, glaring. “I am allowed to have friends outside of you guys. And from this point on, I’ll make a point of it. So if you guys ever turn on me again, I’ll have someone who’ll care.”

It’s unusually malicious for Ashton; he doesn’t care. He’s feeling malicious. He screwed up with Luke, and he’s irritated that they’re trying to pretend like it’s a good thing. In the back of his mind, he’s paralyzingly afraid that Luke will do something, and will be too afraid to call. He wishes now he hadn’t deleted Luke’s number.

His thoughts are interrupted by a phone call. His cell phone starts buzzing on the desk.

“Unknown number,” Calum says helpfully.

“Don’t care. Decline.”

Calum does so.

“I mean, we just wanted you to spend more time with us,” Michael says, continuing that conversation. “It got out of hand. I overreacted, and I’m sorry. I didn’t expect things to go how they did.”

“But they did,” Ashton says, pacing. The phone rings again. “I said, decline, Calum.”

“I did, they’re calling again.”

“Then decline again!”

“Calm down, I’m trying.”

“I mean, if you guys could have just kept calm about it--”

“We said we were sorry,” Michael says, irritated. “You don’t have to beat a dead horse, Ashton, we got it. You cried for hours, the point was clear enough.”

The phone rings again. Ashton whirls around, scowling. “Goddamnit! Just answer it, Calum, I don’t even care.”

“Speakerphone?” Calum offers. “Bet it’s a telemarketer.”

“Whatever,” Ashton huffs.

Calum rolls his eyes and presses speakerphone.

 

* * *

 

Luke sits in the bathroom on the closed toilet lid, sobbing. His phone lies on the windowsill, trying to get through to Ashton. There’s red in the sink, red staining those little friendship bracelets that line his arms, red over his hands where he’s tried to stop the flow.

It’s everywhere, and he can’t stop it.

When the moment came, he thought he was going to be calm, but then it hit him in a moment of terror that he could die. That he’s going to die.

It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? But at the last minute, he’s hit by an overwhelming wave of the frantic urge to survive.

A bottle of pills and two carefully calculated gashes. It was foolproof, except Luke’s panicking. He hasn’t even passed out yet.

Luke is shaking as someone’s voice, not Ashton’s, says, _Hello?_

“Ashton?” Luke gasps, trying to sound like he’s in control. “Ashton, please, I’m sorry if you’re still mad, but I’m scared, please help me, I’m so scared.”

Someone swears, a different person, still not Ashton, and Luke doesn’t care, because he’s so afraid he can’t see straight, and at this point, anyone who will comfort him will provide just a bit of consolation.

_Ashton, is that Luke?_

_Is he okay?_

_What do you think, Michael, does he sound okay?_

“Ashton,” Luke starts again, sobbing. “Please. I don’t want to die. It won’t stop bleeding.”

There’s a click and Ashton’s voice, a different quality, coming through to Luke.

“Luke? Luke, baby, what’s wrong? What have you done?”

“I ran out of space,” Luke sobs, trying to staunch the flow on his arms. “I got to my wrists. And then there were these pills in my cabinet and everyone was out of the house and my dad was yelling again and I--”

“Luke, hold on, slowly. Are you alone in the house?”

“Yeah, I’m alone, I’m scared.”

“Calum’s calling 9-1-1 right now, he’s sending an ambulance to your house. Listen, Luke, you’re gonna be okay, okay?”

Ashton doesn’t sound like he believes it.

“I love you, Ashton, I’m sorry.”

“I know, just hold on for me, okay? Stay awake. You’re going to be okay. Don’t cry, it’ll be over soon.”

“Oh, God, _I don’t want to die_. Please don’t let me die.”

Luke leans his head against the tiled wall and cries, his tears dripping onto his arms and marking clear tracks in the red as they find their way to the ground, fighting to return to the earth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for this  
> one more chapter to go :)


	14. fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a nice conclusion

14

They let Ashton visit on Christmas Eve.

He holds his breath as he walks through the doors. He hardly notices anything. It’s all just a blur around him, grey paints mixed by the grief. A worry so intense it pounded through his head in a migraine.

“And you are?” the nurse at Luke’s door says. “A friend?”

“Boyfriend,” Ashton says, mostly to himself. “They said I could visit.”

There’s something of stone in him now. In the past few days, he’s aged. His eyes are tired and his face tells a story. He’s been unreachable, stunned. Scared, but he’s dealt with the fear by suppressing it.

The nurse nods. “In you go, then.”

And so Ashton is thrust into a cold white room.

Luke lies amidst a mass of wires and tubes. Ashton doesn’t move, stands by the door, listening to what used to be soft breathing, now a harsh, ragged sound, partially induced by the tubes and breathing devices.

Ashton remembers everything they said. About pumping his stomach, his heart trying to shut down, the number of stitches he’d needed. The fact that if the paramedics had been any later on the scene, he’d be too far gone by the time he got to the hospital.

All of it, he’d taken with stoic indifference. All the while dying on the inside. Dying for his Luke.

Ashton takes a couple of steps closer. Lying on a side table is a mass of friendship bracelets, all unraveling where they’d been sliced in half, the pastel threads stained with reddish-brown, lying faded and ugly against the white paper towel they rest on.

Luke shares none of the colors, not the beautiful ones, not the ugly ones. He’s a colorless corpse, on the brink of death still, oxygen mask taped over his face. The only color is his fair hair, fading at the ends into the pillow. His skin is paper-like, his eyes shut. When Ashton steps closer, they crack open, showing the tiniest sliver of silvery-blue.

“Hey, loser,” Ashton says softly.

Luke can’t smile. He closes his eyes again, raising a gauze-wrapped arm to lift the oxygen mask off. The only thing Ashton can make out is, “I’m sorry.” Ashton knows he’s all forgiven; some things are overshadowed by the greater picture.

“I’m sorry, too,” Ashton says, and he means it. He comes to stand at the edge of Luke’s bed. He reaches over the metal railing and smooths Luke’s hair back. “I told you you were gonna be alright.”

“Ashton,” Luke whispers, weak. He’s trying desperately to stay with it. His favorite thing in the whole world is seeing Ashton.

“Yeah,” Ashton says absently, still stroking at his hair. “You need something?”

“Thanks for saving me.” He sighs, starting to drift again. “I love you.” It’s as much as his body can take, and his breathing starts to sound pained.

Ashton moves the oxygen mask back down over his face for him and pulls his blankets up tighter as he slips back under. Then he leans over and plants a kiss on Luke’s forehead.

“I love you too, loser.”

the end

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's it. it worked out okay. you can imagine whatever happens in the future however you want.  
> i have a few more fics that i'm working on that i'll post eventually and I think they're better than this piece of crap (probably bc I wrote the last chapters starting at the fight past midnight on one night) but anyways thanks for reading  
> love you all xx


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